


Coping Mechanisms

by rchlnthwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coping, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rchlnthwy/pseuds/rchlnthwy
Summary: *Dramione*8th year at HogwartsIt's been 3 months since Harry killed Voldemort, and Hermione helps her loved ones as they struggle in the aftermath. She's not sure why she's helping Draco Malfoy too, but she can't seem to help herself.TW: sexual themes, trauma, PTSDHARRY POTTER AND IT'S CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME. ALL COPYRIGHT GOES TO JKR.Also available on Wattpad!@ RachelNethaway
Kudos: 11





	1. Hermione

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on my fanfic adventure! I started Coping Mechanisms in October of 2020, and I'm hoping to continue it for a while. It was originally on Wattpad (and still is), but I know a lot of people prefer AO3, and Wattpad has been questionable in it's actions lately. So I decided to post it here as well. Please feel free to comment! The first few chapters will probably be harshly edited in the future, but I hope you stick around! I have so many wonderful ideas for this, and I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you for the support,  
> Rachel

Monday 

August 24

1998 

Hermione had seen more of St. Mungo's in the past 3 months than she had in the past 7 years. The battle had put many of her friends and schoolmates in the hospital, and she'd been here half the summer helping the understaffed nurses. She hadn't been around the fourth floor much, as only permanent residents resided there. She was grateful none of her loved ones had needed more than a few days to recover. But today found her in the permanent ward, and she knew the room was unusually quiet. Between squeaky medicine carts, and unintelligible mutterings from the 5 permanent patients, there was usually a steady flow of noise in the room. There was none of that today though, almost as if an unspoken rule of quiet respect had been passed around. Hermione swore she'd be able to hear a pin drop. Her heart thundered in her ears, and she wondered if the boy next to her could hear it.

 _Silly,_ she thought to herself. _As if his focus would be on her._

She sighed, and turned her attention to the boy beside her. He'd been here over the summer almost as much as she had, but when he wasn't helping, Hermione knew she could always find him here. And it continued to break her heart. The past week had been especially hard for him, so she'd made it a point to keep him company whenever she could. It didn't change anything, she knew, but she couldn't bear the thought of him always being alone.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione studied his posture. His hands were balled into fists in his lap, his gaze centered on the white sheeted silhouette in the bed before them. He hadn't spoken to her since she came in, but lately, he didn't say much to anyone. She pondered at the coincidence of the ward becoming quieter each day, just like he was.

She slipped one of her hands into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes didn't move, but she felt his fingers tighten around hers in acknowledgement. She rubbed her thumb softly across his knuckles, and she watched the muscles of his arm slowly relax.

The doors on the other side of the room flew open, making Hermione jump. One of the nurses strode in, an elderly woman in gaudy robes following close behind. The nurse offered Hermione a small smile as they approached, their footsteps reverberating throughout the room. It seemed an hour had passed before they finally reached Hermione and her companion, but it had only been mere seconds. They stopped at the foot of the bed before them, and the silence left behind was deafening. Hermione watched the older woman's mouth open to speak, but she jumped as a noise came from the seat beside her.

"Gran," Neville whispered, and Hermione suddenly felt very intrusive. She released his hand and stood, his eyes immediately moving to her.

"I'm going to run up to the fifth floor to get us some tea," she said, and gestured for his grandmother to take her seat. The nurse placed a hand on Hermione's elbow as she passed, their eyes meeting briefly.

She felt her heart break even further.

The walk across the ward seemed miles long, but she forced her feet to move, and didn't allow herself a backwards glance. Only once the doors were completely closed behind her did she allow a sob to wrack her chest. She dashed the tears from her eyes, and tried to recover quickly.

 _Deep breaths,_ she thought. _Neville needs you to be strong._

She hurried down the hall, steeling her emotions away. Now was not the time to lose it.

\---------------------------------------------

She didn't know what compelled her to grab four cups of tea instead of three, but it hadn't felt right to leave without the extra. She kept her pace slow on the way back, thoughtful of the tray in her hands. It nearly fell to the floor as she reentered the permanent ward though, her gaze locking on the blonde intruder in the room. His back was to her, his focus obviously on the bed he was standing beside, and Hermione now fully noticed there was a 6th patient. Her questioning eyes flew to Neville and his grandmother, but they were too busy comforting each other. Hermione took a shaky breath, and forced her feet to unglue themselves from the doorway.

She straightened herself and moved quickly passed the newly filled bed. She could immediately feel a gaze on her back as she rushed to the other end of the room, but she didn't let it slow her. Neville finally met her eyes when she was a few feet away, and she forced herself to forget about the blonde.

"Tea?" she offered, holding the tray out before him and his grandmother.

"Thank you, dear," the woman said, grabbing one of the plastic cups.

"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said, following his grandmothers actions.

"Don't mention it," Hermione said, holding a few packets of sweetener out. "Sugar?" Mrs. Longbottom reached her manicured fingers out to take one from her. Neville slowly shook his head, eyeing the extra cup in her hands. Hermione shrugged, and risked a glance behind her to the now sitting blonde, grateful not to meet his eyes. She quickly turned her attention to the woman filling the bed before him, and her breath caught in her throat.

"They came right after you left," Neville whispered. "I didn't catch anything the nurse said." When Hermione didn't respond, he continued. "Isn't that Malfoy and his..."

"Mother," Hermione cut him off, and a steely pair of gray eyes met hers. Her back straightened, and she turned back to Neville. "Would you excuse me for a second?" Neville gave her a concerned look, but nodded, his attention going back to the bed before him, his own mother sleeping in it.

Hermione took a deep breath, gripping the tray even tighter in her fingers as she approached the bed Narcissa Malfoy now occupied. Draco's eyes never left her.

"Can I help you, Granger?" he gritted his teeth. "Come to pry?" Hermione forced a quip back down her throat, and kept her face blank.

"No, actually," she said. "I just wanted to know if you'd like some tea." Draco scoffed.

"Go the fuck away," he cursed, his eyes finally leaving hers as he raised a hand to bite his nails. Hermione noticed his fingers were shaking. She released the breath she'd been holding, and turned to leave, but not before placing a cup of tea and few packets of sweetener on the bed's end table.

\---------------------------------------------

Hermione returned to St. Mungo's early the next morning. She didn't plan on staying long, hoping to finally make a trip to Diagon Alley that afternoon. There was only a week til September 1st, and her final return to Hogwarts, and she had yet to buy any of the necessary supplies. She'd honestly been so wrapped up in the hospital that she'd been shocked to learn they'd entered the last week of August.

She didn't know what she'd expected to find coming into the permanent ward, but a seemingly unmoved Draco wasn't it. He'd clearly spent the night in the same chair. He still wore yesterdays clothes, a now ruffled gray jumper, and slim, black trousers. He didn't turn as she approached, and she wondered if he'd moved since yesterday. Then she noticed the empty cup at his feet. She bit back a smirk, noticing Neville wasn't here yet.

"Back again, Granger?" Draco asked, snapping her attention back to him. His eyes were red rimmed, dark bags encircling them. _Had he gotten any sleep?_

"Still here, Malfoy?" she grimaced at her own question. Of course he'd be here.

"Where the fuck else would I be?" he sneered.

"I'm sorry. That was insensitive." She dropped her eyes to her feet.

"Whatever."

She stood there silently for a moment, before looking back up. He was still looking at her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Can I bring you something?" she wavered.

"What, do you work here now?"

"Well, not officially," she answered. "I volunteered for the summer."

"Of course you did," he shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fucking goody two-shoes," he said under his breath. Hermione pretended not to hear.

"More tea, maybe?" she questioned again, gesturing at the empty cup. His jaw tightened.

"Is there anything stronger than that dirt water in this bloody hospital?" His eyes remained closed as he leaned his elbow on the arm rest of his chair.

"If you're looking for alcohol, you'll be sadly disappointed," she grunted. "We do have coffee though."

"Fine," he said, promptly ending their conversation. She didn't hesitate to leave.

The fifth floor tea room was empty upon arrival, minus a few nurses hovering around. She gave them all a slight nod as she poured coffee into a throwaway plastic cup. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and cast a quick warming charm on the potent, black liquid, hoping to refresh it. She grabbed a few more packets of sugar, and was discouraged to not see any creamer. She shrugged, and made to exit. A bowl of green apples caught her eye on the way out, and she grabbed one as an afterthought. _When was the last time he ate?_

Hermione shook her head. _Since when did she care about Malfoy and his eating habits?_ None of them had seen Malfoy or his parents since Harry had killed Voldemort. She'd heard Lucius was being sent back to Azkaban. What had happened to Narcissa to make her end up here? Whatever it was, Hermione's heart felt heavy. Harry had told her about Narcissa's lie to the Dark Lord. She had protected Draco, and in turn, saved Harry. No matter her husband or son's actions, Narcissa didn't deserve to be here.

Hermione quickly returned to the fourth floor, thinking maybe she should try and get some answers.


	2. Draco

Draco was rubbing his throbbing temples when he heard the door open behind him. He didn't need to look to know who it was. Her footsteps were light and hesitant, and as she breezed by, he caught a whiff of her subtle vanilla scent. Somehow, it only made his headache worse.

She stopped at the end of his mothers bed, not saying anything. He looked up to see her holding out a white, plastic cup, steam rising from its contents. He met her honey eyes, a look of concern furrowing her eyebrows.

"I grabbed you an apple too, in case you were hungry," she held out her other hand, the green fruit vibrant against her pale fingers. She placed it on the end table, and pulled a couple bright, pink packets from her jean pockets.

"They didn't have any creamer, but I brought more sugar" she admitted, placing them next to the apple. Her other arm still held the coffee towards him.

"It's fine," he said harshly. "I only drink black coffee anyways."

He took the cup from her grasp, her fingertips warm as they brushed his.

"You're hands are freezing," Hermione said as she lowered her own. "Do you want a blanket or something? I know it's not the warmest in he-"

"I don't need a bloody blanket," he interrupted, staring down into the coffee's black depths. He took a cautious sip, and grimaced. He didn't actually enjoy black coffee, but he'd be damned if he told Hermione bloody Granger that. He risked a glance back up at her, and noticed a peculiar look in her eye.

"Didn't your muggle parents ever tell you it's impolite to stare?" he spat at her, but she gave no answer other than a blink of her eyes, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. When she offered no other response, Draco placed the nasty drink at his feet, and returned his attention to his mother, hoping Hermione would take the hint and leave.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said after a few silent minutes. Draco was forced to look at her. Her chin was turned towards her feet, her arms wrapped around her chest.

"For what?"

"Your mother," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. Draco gritted his teeth at the genuine concern he saw in them.

"I don't need your fucking pity, Granger," he hissed. "Since when do you bloody care anyways." Her eyes widened slightly, and he couldn't help a smirk. Finally, a response.

"Just because you can be an awful prat doesn't mean I want to see your mother here," she said, shooting him a glare. Draco scoffed.

"I don't want to see anyone's mother here," she whispered, and he wondered if he'd actually heard her, until he noticed her gaze at the end of the room. A short haired brunette laid alone in the corner, the chairs no longer occupied by Neville and the woman that was with him yesterday. The bed across from hers lay empty, but something in Draco's mind screamed that it wasn't supposed to be.

"Longbottom?" he found himself asking. Hermione once again met his eyes.

"Alice. Neville's mom." She sighed. "She's been here most of Neville's life. She doesn't even recognize her own son." Draco swallowed, wondering why she thought he cared.

"What happened to her?"

"Both his parents were tortured by the cruciatus. He's been raised by his grandmother."

"Where's his dad then?" Draco asked, and immediately saw Hermione stiffen, her eyes moving to the empty bed across from Alice.

"He was here too," Hermione answered, her chest rising as she drew in a shaky breath.

She wouldn't meet his eyes, and he felt himself compelled to ask, "Was?"

Hermione hugged herself tighter.

"He died last Monday," she breathed, her voice threatening to break. "Neville's been here everyday since. It freaked his mom out, and she's been subdued for her own health." 

"Poor Longbottom," Draco muttered. "Though I'm sure you and the other bloody Gryffindors keep him busy." He knew he was being harsh, but he really didn't give a damn. Hermione chewed her bottom lip.

"I'm the only one who knows," she admitted. Draco's eyes shot up.

"What?"

"Besides his gran, I mean. He told me not to tell anyone."

"Why?" Draco demanded. Hermione shrugged.

"I guess he doesn't want people's pity either." Her words were clipped, and Draco quieted, knowing that was a jab at his earlier statement. He looked back to his mother, her skin abnormally pale, her usually perfect hair mussed around her face. Her breath was even, and her eyes were closed, but her skin was creased in a perpetual pained expression. He reached forward to run his thumb between her eyebrows, hoping to smooth the wrinkles there. Draco wondered if she could feel it.

Hermione's arm brushed against his as she took the open seat beside him. He wanted to scream and curse at her to go away, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He blamed the exhaustion, but the warmth her body radiated beside him was slightly intoxicating. He forced himself not to lean into it. 

They sat together unspeaking for 10 minutes or so, the silence somehow awkward yet comfortable. Draco couldn't say he was fully grateful for the bushy haired annoyance beside him, but knowing even someone else was there was oddly comforting. Of course, he would never admit this to her. But he felt himself speaking before he even realized he'd opened his mouth. 

"My own father did this to her," he reluctantly confessed. He immediately regretted sharing this information, but he was surprised to feel his chest lighten. He felt Hermione shift in her seat, her knees angling towards him, but he refused to look in her direction. He knew she was expecting him to say more, but she mercifully remained quiet, allowing Draco to set the pace of the conversation. He hated himself for telling this to Hermione fucking Granger of all people. He was airing his family's dirty laundry to the golden girl of Gryffindor, and it felt traitorous. But he couldn't seem to stop himself from continuing.

"I'm sure you've heard they've sent him back to Azkaban," he started. "He's been in and out of the Ministry courts for the past few weeks. We all knew it was inevitable, but his mind has been gone for months. He's been fighting for any appeal he could get, and he wanted my mother to testify for him. She refused." Draco tightly gripped his knees, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. He saw Hermione's hand reach towards his, but she quickly pulled it back. Draco couldn't decide if he was glad she'd stopped herself or not. "I don't know what the fucking idiot wanted her to say. Nothing could possibly have helped his case." Draco's body shook. 

"You don't have to tell me," Hermione whispered, and he couldn't help but glare at her.

"I know I don't have to fucking tell you!" he choked out, chest heaving. He felt another curse rising from his throat, but then he caught the sorrow in her eyes, and his mouth snapped shut. He hung his head back to look at his feet, the anger exhausting itself from his tone. 

"If he thought he had any chance of getting out of Azkaban, it died after what he did to her," Draco soldiered on. "The entire court paid witness to it." He felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes, but he refused to let the girl witness him crying. He blinked them away, and slipped his trembling fingers around his mothers exposed hand. 

"The healers did what they could. They aren't sure if she'll recover or not." He glanced back to Alice Longbottom. "I guess the cruciatus took more than one mother here," he whispered. Draco begrudgingly met Hermione's eyes again, as if a magnet continuously pulled him there. A tear slipped from her lashes, the compassion blatant on her face. It made him feel even sicker. 

"I'm so sorry, Draco," her words were soft and clear, and Draco's chest squeezed at her use of his given name. He pulled his eyes away from hers and shrugged, the emotionless mask sliding quickly back in place.

"Like I said Granger, I don't need your pity. Besides, you've made your hatred for me and my family very clear the past 7 years." She stiffened beside him, and he braced himself for one of her usual witty rebuttals. But it never came. 

"I've never hated you," she affirmed, her voice confident. It shocked Draco to hear, and it must have been evident on his face. "True, I've never especially favored you. But I don't think I have it in me to hate anyone. Not anymore." She paused. "And I certainly wouldn't admit holding any hatred for you in front of your mother's hospital bed." 

"Ever the valiant Gryffindor," Draco chuckled, knowing how forced his laugh sounded, even to his own ears. 

"No," she murmured. "Just Hermione." 

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but the doors behind them creaked open, and Hermione rose to her feet. 

"Good morning, Neville," she greeted. Draco watched her rush off to hug her friend, the boy a good 6 or 7 inches taller than her. 

"I have a few things to do here, but I'll be back as soon as I can," Draco heard her say, the uplifting tone back in her voice. Neville raised a corner of his mouth to her, and she made to leave. She turned her head back in Draco's direction, her eyes offering him quick condolences before she let the door shut behind her. 

Draco felt the room grow immediately colder, but he refused to let himself think about it. His focus turned to the boy shuffling past him. He didn't drop his eyes from Neville even as he sat down in front of his own mother, or even when their eyes met. Draco wasn't sure what compelled him to do so, but he dipped his head in understanding, and though a wary look crossed Neville's eyes, he slowly nodded back.


	3. Hermione

Hermione didn't see Draco again before she left St. Mungo's that day. She assumed he went off to eat, or change clothes maybe. Whatever the case, she didn't stick around to find out. She desperately needed to go to Diagon Alley, and escape from the heartbreak that was the hospital. She still hadn't fully recovered from Draco's disclosure that morning. She would have never believed she'd feel any sort of tenderness for the Malfoy heir, but she'd caught herself crying in the bathroom between patients. _As if Neville wasn't tragic enough._

Pushing a loose curl of hair from her face, she forced the thought aside and apparated to Diagon Alley. Apparition was becoming easier and easier upon each use, and she barely staggered as her feet steadied themselves on the cobblestone street beneath her. She pulled the supply list from her pocket, and headed in the direction of Flourish and Blotts. 

Hermione groaned upon arrival, quickly concluding that everyone must have procrastinated with their school shopping like she had. The line of the bookstore was nearly out the door, and her shoulders hunched in dread. She was no longer the biggest fan of crowds, and she had no desire to succumb to the claustrophobia. So she marched on to Amanuensis Quills, hoping the shop and it's neighbor, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, were not quite as teeming. Neither store was nearly as crowded as the first, so she trudged forward, picking up the first set of ink and quills she could lay her hands on. Hermione had nowhere else to be, but she desperately wanted to promptly get in and get out. 

Unfortunately, Madam Malkin was busy fitting another student for robes, so Hermione's prolonged stay in the shop was unavoidable. She meandered impatiently through the racks of clothes, glancing now and then at her supply list, making a mental shopping plan as she waited. It was only then that she noticed that **ball gown/dress** robes were distinctly listed. Hermione whined internally. She didn't find it very surprising that McGonagall would throw another dance this year. She probably hoped it'd lift everyone's spirits, or celebrate the school's reopening. Hermione scoffed at whatever the reason was, knowing she'd have to go to yet another store for a dress. _Preferably one back in muggle London,_ she thought. Right after a quick trip to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary for her potions supplies. 

Back out in the street, new robes finally in hand, Hermione allowed herself to study the people around her. There didn't seem to be a shortage of children pulling their parents behind them, their faces filled with luminous intensity. In fact, most people wore a bright smile. Really, what was there to be sad about? The Dark Lord had been vanquished months before, shops were reopening, Hogwarts had been rebuilt. A new era of peace had stampeded throughout the wizarding world right under Hermione's nose.

_So why did it feel so deceptive?_

Hermione wanted nothing more than to smile along with the people swarming the street around her. She wanted to share in their happiness. But it felt so wrong, so inappropriate. All these people had easily accepted the return to normality, but Hermione wasn't sure if she had the ability to do the same. She'd hoped to put on a brave face, and return to Hogwarts like nothing happened. She'd be head girl, a dream she'd had for her entire Hogwarts experience. She'd be surrounded by her friends. She'd take her N.E.W.T's, and move on to a wizarding career. All according to plan. 

_But at what cost?_

Head girl no longer served the same appeal. Hermione had only agreed to McGonagall's request because it had felt inconsiderate to do otherwise. McGonagall needed her help, and Hermione was never very successful at saying no to those she cared about. 

Seeing her friends was becoming something she dreaded. Hermione knew that for every presence, there would be an absence. Someone they'd lost. Colin Creevey and Lavender Brown were especially burned into her memories, and she couldn't bear to think of all the other empty spaces there would be in the great hall. 

And the N.E.W.T's seemed highly comical to her now, after everything she'd been through. She'd lived through a war. She'd lived through Voldemort. She'd lived through believing Harry was dead. Hermione had been through more tests than most people would go through in their entire lives. Written exams seemed rather trivial now. 

She'd told Harry all this a few days before, but he'd knocked it up to nerves. Said they'd all been feeling a little wary, and that returning to the school was just what they needed. A finality to their endeavors. A necessary closure. Hermione wished she shared his enthusiasm, his hope, his genuine obliviousness to the harsh truths around him. She wondered if he'd noticed Ron's growing alcoholism, George's bouts of depression, or Ginny's mood swings. Hermione observed all their signs of PTSD, and her concern grew daily at how long they'd last. 

_Would they be burdened by scars forever?_

Hermione laughed uncomfortably, her left arm burning subconsciously. She didn't need to roll up her sleeve to see the eight grotesque letters embedded in her skin. She felt them daily, serving as a constant reminder of the past. Thankfully, they were no longer bloody, red scabs, just irritated dilutions of her own skin color, rising in uneven bumps to spell the word Bellatrix had carved there just a few months prior. 

_Yes,_ she thought to herself, _she'd carry the scars forever._

\---------------------------------------------

Muggle London proved to be a much more enjoyable shopping experience. She'd dropped off all her wizarding items back in her room at The Leaky Cauldron, and persuaded herself back out for a dress. The streets were far less busy, the people far less cheery. The august breeze chilled her freckled cheeks, and Hermione found the cool air refreshing. She could breathe here.

She popped into the first dress shop she could find, grateful that it was nearly empty. The elderly shopkeeper at the counter barely acknowledged Hermione's entrance behind the magazine 2 inches in front of her nose. Hermione smiled to herself, the people on the magazine cover unmoving. 

Hermione let her fingers rake over the racks of dresses, wondering if anything would catch her eye. All the colors were slightly overwhelming, her eyes becoming unfocused. A stark red dress stood out amongst the others, and she grasped it's hanger hesitantly. The same voice telling her _Gryffindor red only makes sense,_ was also screaming _not red, not red, not red._ She sighed and moved on.

 _Why does it even matter?_ she asked herself bitterly, shifting farther into the store. _You'll probably be miserable no matter what you wear._

She wondered if Ron would ask her. And more alarmingly, she wondered if she wanted him to. 

Again, _it would only make sense._ And again, _not him, not him, not him._

Her thoughts turned to the blonde haired boy in back at St. Mungo's, her fingers distractedly continuing their path across the racks. She immediately shook the image away, waiting for her conscience to pipe in another _not him._

It didn't, and that worried her. 

Her hand stilled, and she looked to the fabric currently in her fingers. Hermione's breath caught.

 _Yes,_ her brain screamed.


	4. Draco

She was screaming. 

Draco wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he immediately shot awake in his chair. He felt a warm grip on his shoulder, and he squinted his eyes at the brightly lit wand in front of his face.

"Malfoy," Neville shook him. Draco focused on the boys mouth, now closed, and wondered why the screaming still continued. 

"Malfoy!" Neville continued. "Snap out of it! We need to help her!" Draco's brow furrowed, and realization slapped him awake.

"Mother," he breathed, turning to the woman in the bed. He shot to his feet, his hands seeking her trembling arm. Her eyes were clenched shut, and the screams were torturous to his ears. Her muscles spasmed against his fingers, the whole bed shaking beneath her.

"We need a healer," Draco panicked, his voice way too loud, "Or a sleeping draught."

"A sleeping draught won't do any good," Neville said, his hand still gripping Draco's shoulder, steadying him. "She's convulsing. It's the muscle memory. A sleeping draught will only knock her out, but the spasms will continue when it wears off. She needs a calming draught, and to ride this out." Neville's words barely registered as Narcissa continued to scream. 

"Malfoy, listen to me, put your hand under her neck and raise her chin," Draco felt the cold absence on his shoulder as Neville released him. He heard the boy whisper a quick lumos maxima, the bright light hovering above his mothers bed as Neville scrambled across the room to a medicine cart. Draco's own hands were shaking as he gently slipped his fingers under his mother's stiff neck.

"It's okay, we're here, it's okay," Draco rambled, struggling to breathe. 

Neville returned with a vial of blue liquid, quickly removing the stopper.

"Hold her just like that," Neville's words with calm, and Draco met his eyes from across the bed. "You'll need to put your hand over her mouth once I'm done, so she doesn't just spit it back out. She needs to swallow this. The screaming should stop soon after, but it won't fully stop the tremors." Draco's mouth hardened into a thin line, but Neville's eyes shone with honest determination.

"I won't hurt your mother, Draco," Neville said. "I promise." Draco released a shaky breath, and nodded, his eyes returning to his mothers face. Neville pressed the vial forward, forcing the liquid to her lips between screams. As soon as the glass was empty, Draco placed his free hand carefully over her mouth. Her eyes shot open and met his. He looked for any signs of recognition, but he could find nothing but panic and pain. 

"It's okay," Draco repeated, his own eyes burning. "It's okay." Narcissa continued to whimper and shake, but he saw the muscles of her throat tighten and immediately relax. A tear slipped down her pallid skin, and Draco removed the hand from her mouth to wipe it away. Her body quivered under the sheets, but Draco was relieved as her cries stopped. 

"Just stay with her," Neville ordered. "It's late, but I'm sure there's a healer somewhere. I'll be back as soon as I can." Neville must have seen the panic on Draco's face so he continued. "She'll be fine now. Trust me." Neville's words were certain, and it struck Draco that he was speaking from experience. Draco swallowed.

"Okay," he whispered, and heard the door's shut behind Neville moments later. 

\---------------------------------------------

Neville returned with a healer soon after. The older wizard commended Neville for the quick action with the calming draught, and when Narcissa stopped shaking, he gave her a draught of peace, and a potion for dreamless sleep. 

"Those will help her rest easy," the man said. "We'll give her another examination in the morning, but there's not much else I can do tonight." 

"Will she be okay?" Draco heard himself ask, his voice hoarse.

"Her body is under a lot of strain at the moment, her mind shut down to protect itself. But it's a good sign that she's awake. We can help her more while she's conscious," the wizard offered the boys a half-hearted smile. "I'll be back in a while to check on you both."

Draco nodded, and watched the wizard exit before leaning back in his chair, his chin tilted to the ceiling. Neville stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, one arm wrapped around his torso. Half the lights were on again, casting dark silhouettes across the room. Draco sighed, knowing he wouldn't get any more sleep tonight. He shot a glance at the clock above the door. It was nearly 4 am. 

Draco returned his attention to Neville, the boys eyes at his feet. 

"You're here late," Draco observed. Neville looked back up.

"So are you," he shrugged. 

"I don't have anywhere else to go," he admitted. Neville's eyes widened, his mouth opening to respond. "I don't want to talk about it," Draco cut him off. Neville returned his eyes to the floor.

Draco sighed.

"Sit down, Longbottom," Draco ordered, tilting his head at the empty chair beside him. Neville couldn't hide his shocked expression, but didn't hesitate. Draco didn't look at him again. 

The two boys sat in silence for a few minutes, listening as Narcissa's breath evened out. Only when Draco believed she'd fallen back asleep did he speak again.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, his eyes back on the ceiling. He didn't go on, hoping Neville wouldn't press him further.

"You're welcome," he said. 

Draco ran and hand through his hair, and huffed out a sigh.

"Can I ask you something?" the words had left Draco's mouth before he could stop them.

"Sure," Neville responded easily. 

"Granger said you don't want anyone else to know about your dad." Draco felt Neville stiffen beside him. "Why?" Neville didn't answer, and he suddenly felt like a complete ass. 

"Hey, I'm-I'm sorry," Draco stuttered immediately. "I should mind my own fucking business."

"No, it's okay," Neville muttered. "I figured she'd told you. I know she thinks I should tell everyone else."

"So why haven't you?" Draco pressed, snapping his head back up to look at Neville. 

"You wouldn't understand," Neville said under his breath. 

"Try me." 

Draco watched as Neville refused to meet his eyes, obviously collecting his thoughts. He wanted to tell the boy to get on with it, but the thought of Hermione earlier that morning stopped him. She had stayed silent during Draco's admission; he could manage the same. 

"I have been the designated pity party my entire life," Neville finally continued. "I've never been much good at anything, and everyone's always felt sorry for me. My gran saw me as the poor, helpless child she was forced to take care of. My friends saw me as the walking disaster that could barely manage a spell without hurting himself. The nurses here saw me as the pitiful son who had nothing better to do than sit at the beds of his mental patient parents. I've always been the weak link." Neville's fists clenched as he swallowed. "Until I killed that snake." His eyes met Draco's. "Everyone questioned my sorting into Gryffindor. And then I pulled the sword from that hat, and everything changed. No one looked at me with pity anymore. They saw someone capable of killing Nagini, a horcrux. I was a hero." Neville shrugged, his head dropping back to his lap. "I guess I don't want to go back to being pitied." 

Draco waited for Neville to continue, and cuffed the back of his head when he didn't.

"Ow!" Neville stammered, "What the hell was that for?"

"You're a fucking idiot, Longbottom," Draco scoffed. Neville's nostrils flared, his hand rubbing the back of his head. "You Gryffindor's are all so bloody stubborn. You boast about camaraderie and courage, and then refuse to ask your friends for help. It's infuriating. Granger doesn't sit here with you everyday out of pity, Longbottom." At that, Neville's hand stilled, shooting him a questioning look. Draco huffed impatiently. "She obviously cares for you, and I'm sure all your other friends bloody well do too. You should be grateful." Neville bit the inside of his cheek.

"Listen," Draco sighed. "Nothing will change what you did. You'll always be a hero now. But don't let that get to your fucking head," he added. "Tell your friends, Longbottom. Let them be there for you." 

Neville thought on Draco's words for a moment. "Alright," he said, his lips twitching into a grin. "Thanks, Malfoy." Draco rolled his eyes.

"This doesn't make us friends either."

Neville laughed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "I know, I know."

Draco mimicked his relaxed position, his hands clasping each other over his stomach. He shot another glance at Neville before closing his eyes, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as they relapsed back into silence.


	5. Hermione

Hermione walked into St. Mungo's the next morning, three espressos in tow. She'd stopped at her favorite local coffee shop, desperately needing a strong pick-me-up, and heard herself order two extra. She wasn't sure if Draco or Neville were even there, but she'd grabbed a travel tray and carried it through the hospital doors. She'd been especially sure to ask for creamer in all three, remembering the disgusted look Draco had failed to hide the previous morning. 

She pushed the permanent ward door open with her hip, and was greeted by the sight of both Neville and Draco asleep at Narcissa's bedside. She quickly snapped her mouth shut, realizing her jaw had dropped. _What had she missed?_

She hurried over to them, neither boy stirring at her loud footsteps. Hermione noticed they were leaning as far away from each other as the chairs would allow, but she couldn't stop the smile that graced her lips. 

"Ahem," she cleared her throat. One of Draco's eyes reluctantly opened.

"Bloody hell," he grunted. 

"Good morning to you too," she laughed.

"Bugger off, Granger," he scoffed, rubbing his temples.

"Not a morning person, I see," she eyed him. "Coffee?" She extended a drink in his direction. "I promise these are better than yesterdays. I made sure they added creamer." Draco raised a surprised eyebrow at her before hesitantly reaching an arm across Neville. In that moment, he snorted loudly awake, making both Hermione and Draco jump. 

"Morning, Neville," Hermione said softly, her arm still outstretched. Draco finally took the coffee from her, so she reached back to hand one to Neville.

"Thanks, Mione," Neville yawned. "What time is it?" 

"Nearly 9," she answered, eyeing the clock. "You boys look like you had a long night." Draco didn't move his eyes from his mother, and Neville's eyes remained locked on the coffee in his hands. 

"Everything alright?" she asked. 

"Fucking brilliant," Draco spat, raising the coffee to his lips. Neville peered up at Hermione, offering nothing but a small shrug, and a pained expression that said don't ask.

"Right," she mumbled, taking an awkward sip from her own cup.

\---------------------------------------------

The rest of the day proved to be just as wearying. A healer slipped into the ward soon after Hermione's arrival, promptly shooing her and Neville out. She shot her friend a questioning glance as they left, but he offered only the word _"Narcissa"_ before briskly leaving St. Mungo's. Hermione sighed, wanting to pry more answers from him, but thinking better of it. 

Instead, she forced herself to keep busy, helping any and every overwhelmed nurse she could find. The school year started in just a few days, and Hermione wanted to aid the hospital as much as she could before then. She knew she'd done more than necessary, but it still felt insufficient. Or maybe _she_ just felt insufficient. Whatever the case, she bustled throughout the hospital hours into the afternoon. Her stomach growled painfully around dinnertime, and she sighed, knowing there wasn't much else she could do for the day anyways. 

She made to leave, but caught herself, thinking of the blonde upstairs. She hesitated, and spun on her heel. She hadn't seen him leave, but she could have just missed him. It's not like she'd expected him to say goodbye on his way out. She felt silly checking to see if he was still here. Surely he would have left by now.

Hermione stilled in the doorway, catching sight of the striking blonde figure hunched in his chair. His elbows rested on his knees, his face in his hands. He looked so small then. He had such a dominating presence in a room, but there was none of that now as he sat there curled in on himself. Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. Her shoulders sagged. 

He didn't look up at her slow approach, so she was shocked when he guessed correctly.

"What do you want, Granger?" his voice was muffled in his palms. The dead tone of his voice caught Hermione off guard, making her stop in her tracks. His head shot up to meet her eyes when she didn't respond. His gray eyes were stone cold, his emotions tightly locked away behind his harsh expression. 

Hermione fumbled to string together her words. 

"You eaten?" was all she managed to say.

"What?" he sneered. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Have you eaten?" she repeated.

"Are you offering to bring me dinner now too?" Draco laughed humorlessly. Hermione straightened her spine.

"No, actually. I was just on my way out, and figured you might be hungry. I honestly didn't expect I'd still find you here." Draco raised a perfect eyebrow at her.

"What has the world come to where Hermione bloody Granger asks if I want to get food with her," he smirked, shaking his head. Hermione's fists clenched at her sides.

"I was just trying to be nice," she muttered.

"You know, Granger, you don't have to fucking be nice," he spat.

"And you don't have to be so bloody irritable," she narrowed her eyes at him. They glared at each other for a few heartbeats before he huffed in annoyance and turned away. 

"I know the hospital can be a little... confining," her fingers pulled at the bottom of her sweater. He ignored her. 

"Forget it," she said, and turned on her heel, not allowing herself to look back. Her feet didn't stop moving until she was out on the street. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky, finally releasing the breath she'd been holding. Her eyes remained closed even as she felt a warm presence materialize behind her. 

"Daydreaming, Granger?" his voice teased behind her ear. She stopped the smirk that threatened to pull at her lips. Her eyes opened as she turned back at him.

"Just waiting for you to catch up," she taunted. 

"Yeah, well, don't read too much into this. I'm only here because the hospital food is fucking awful. I don't exactly prefer your company." 

"What makes you so sure I'm thrilled by yours," she jabbed. 

"Fair enough," Draco chuckled. "But I'd like to point out that you _did _ask me."__

____

____

"And I'm already regretting it," she chirped.

Draco smirked. "Good." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, and started off down the street, not caring to check if he was following her. She led them to a nearly empty pub, craving a quiet atmosphere. A bell above the door chimed as they walked through, but no one inside turned to spare them a glance. A few elderly men sat at the bar, nursing their drinks. Hermione picked the nearest booth, and slid into it. Draco seemed skeptical about following her actions, but, against his better judgement, he slid in across from her. 

The dim light of the pub highlighted the sharp contours of his face, his square jaw prominent against the shadows of his neck. He wore a casual black sweater, the material snug against his torso. A silver signet ring graced his long fingers, and a loose wisp of his nearly white hair swept across his forehead. He looked almost ethereal, and Hermione hoped the warmth in her cheeks had been caused by the heat of the pub. 

Neither of them spoke until a young, blonde waitress breezed by, a grin too big for her face plastered on her lips. 

"Drinks, dears?" her high voice rang, the smile never faltering. 

"Just a water for me," Hermione returned a half smile.

"Water is fine," Draco echoed, not once looking up at the cheery woman before them. 

The waitress flitted off, her blonde curls bouncing unnaturally with every step. 

"This place is a dump," Draco muttered, his fingers picking at the edges of his menu. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry it isn't up to your standards," she gritted. "But we're here now. Deal with it." She picked up her own menu and held it up in front of her face, purposefully cutting her out of Draco's line of sight. She glanced over it absentmindedly, not reading a single word it said. 

"Did you invite me here to hide behind a bloody menu all night?" he chided.

"I'm not hiding," she said, not moving an inch. His fingers pulled her menu down at the top, his eyes meeting hers.

"Could have fooled me," he raised an eyebrow.

Hermione sighed, lowering her menu slightly. "Did you want to talk instead?"

"Not particularly."

"That's what I thought," she said, and her menu flew back up. Draco let out a frustrated breath.

"Granger," he started.

"Malfoy," she quipped, not missing a beat.

"Granger, put the damn menu down," he ordered. Hermione clenched her jaw and begrudgingly flattened the menu on the table before her.

"You're too bossy."

"I've been called worse," he shrugged.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but the waitress reappeared and placed two glasses of water in front of them. 

"What we eating tonight?" she hummed, pulling the pen from behind her ear and a pad of paper from her apron. 

"Oh, um," Hermione's eyes flicked back over the menu, and she picked the first thing she saw. "The shepherd's pie would be lovely."

"And for you, doll?" the waitress turned to Draco.

"Make it two," he said curtly.

"Two pies comin' right up," she said as she slipped the menus from them and strode off. Hermione ran a finger distractedly around the lip of her glass, keeping her eyes on the slowly sinking ice cubes. She could feel Draco's steady gaze on her.

"I thought it was impolite to stare," she said, meeting his eyes. He gave her a quizzical look, as if he was trying to figure something out. 

"What?" she huffed impatiently.

"Nothing," he said after a moment.

"Well, it obviously isn't _nothing._ So go on with it."

"Why did you invite me here?"

"What?"

"I said, why did you invite me here?"

"No, no, I heard you. Why are you asking me that? I told you, I thought you might be hungry."

"Yeah, but why do you care? We're not exactly friends."

Hermione shrugged and took a quick sip of her water.

"Do we have to be?" 

That answer made Draco pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.

"It'd look a tad depressing if I came here by myself," Hermione continued, gesturing at the lonely men at the bar. 

"You have actual friends you could have invited," Draco sneered. Hermione dropped her eyes to the table, drawing invisible pictures into the wood with her finger. Draco immediately sensed her aversion to his gaze.

"Oh what, trouble in paradise?" he smirked.

"No," she answered a little too quickly. 

"Well then, where's the famous _Boy Who Lived,_ " Draco asked mockingly.

"Harry spends most of his time with Ginny at the Burrow. I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron. It's an easier apparition, and I'm not in the way. The house is already full as it is." 

"And what about your bloody boyfriend?" Draco pressed. Hermione's back straightened.

"For your information, Malfoy, Ron is not my boyfriend." she hissed.

"Ah, trouble in the sack. Figures Weasley can't keep it up."

"You're disgusting," Hermione spat.

"Well, what is it then?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your bloody business."

"I'm making it my business," his stare was icy, threatening Hermione to argue.

"If I answer that, you have to answer a question of mine." Draco's glare never faltered.

"Okay, Granger." 

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, organizing her thoughts. 

"Harry is too cheerful to be around lately. He thinks we can all just return to normal, and go on living everyday like three months ago didn't happen. Like we didn't all lose a piece of ourselves. Some days it feels like I'm suffocating. Like I can't _breathe._ And I didn't even get the worst of it. Ron lost a brother, and he thinks nursing the bottle every night will fill the void. It's nauseating, and depressing, and I just-I can't look them in the eyes every day and not ignore what it's done to us. I can't ignore what we lost."

"What did you lose, Granger?" Draco asked. Hermione absentmindedly rubbed the sleeve of her forearm.

"Too much," was all she offered as an answer. Draco caught her movement, but seemed to think better of pressing further.

"Alright, what's your question then," he asked, leaning back in his seat. Hermione was thankful for the subject change.

"What happened last night? I wasn't aware you and Neville were friendly."

"We aren't."

"Right."

"He was just there when I needed him. That's all."

"He's good at that," Hermione remarked.

"He's not that bad, I guess."

"Was that a compliment, Malfoy?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffed. "Longbottom is still a bloody airhead. The dolt thinks if he tells people his father is dead, they'll just go back to feeling sorry for him."

"He said that?" 

"You didn't know?"

"He doesn't really confide in me all that much," Hermione admitted.

"Cut the kid some slack. He just wants everyone to think he's capable."

"But I _know_ he's capable!"

"Then you should bloody well tell _him_ that!" Draco yelled.

Hermione pondered on his words for a moment, trying to remember the last time she'd praised Neville for anything. 

"Alright," she said. 

"Anything else?" he asked. 

"I guess there is one more thing."

"Might as well get it over with now."

"Where have you been all summer? None of us have seen you."

"Because we saw so much of each other before," Draco mocked.

"Answer the question," Hermione demanded. He shot her a bitter look. 

"Mother and I were staying at her sisters for a while. Andromeda's. Father wasn't around much, obviously. And the ministry seized the manor. Mother wanted her and I to leave for a while, start somewhere new." Draco looked down at his hands. "Plans clearly changed."

"So that's where you're staying now? Andromeda's?"

"I haven't gone back since mother's been in the hospital. Andromeda doesn't really like me much, and she has enough on her plate, raising Teddy by herself." 

"Where have you been sleeping then?"

"I thought that was pretty fucking obvious."

"You've been sleeping at the hospital??"

"How observant of you, Granger." 

"Why didn't you say something? I could have at least set a bed up for you!"

"I'm not a bloody charity case. I don't need a bed. The chairs are just fine."

"You're a horrible liar."

"So what? Anything's better than you doting on me like you care."

"Is it really so bad to accept other people's help?"

"From you? Yes."

"You're awful."

"So you've said." 

They glared at each other in silence until their food finally appeared. They both mumbled a sour _thanks_ to the waitress before she hurried off again. Hermione pushed the food around on her plate, her appetite lost. 

"You know, just because I don't necessarily care about you, doesn't mean I want to see you suffer," Hermione finally said.

"You should," Draco said, not even touching his plate. 

"Well I don't." She forced herself to take a bite, the flavor lost on her tongue. Draco rolled his eyes, but eventually picked up his fork and did the same. 

"Are you coming back to Hogwarts then?"

Draco sneered.

"Why would I?"

"Well, it's a place to go for a start. And it's not far from your mother. All of the seventh years are being welcomed back."

"I don't think that welcome wagon has room for me. No one wants me back there."

"I think you'd be wrong," Hermione shrugged.

"And what makes you so fucking sure?" he said, his grip tightening around his fork until his knuckles turned white.

"Well, I don't think Neville minds you so much. And I surely don't, even though you are still a prat."

"Thanks, Granger," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "But I doubt you and Longbottom speak for the rest of the school."

"As if you've ever cared what the school thought of you," she chided, stabbing her food.

"There's no help for me there."

 _"Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."_ Dumbledore's words fell out of her mouth without thought, and she watched Draco's mask slip for a moment. He quickly collected himself, but didn't say anything further. So Hermione turned back to her plate, and continued eating, not sparing him another glance until she was finished. 

Draco pushed his unfinished plate aside, and the waitress returned quickly with a bill. They both threw some money on the table, and Draco silently followed her out. She meant to leave him on the sidewalk without a word, but a warm hand caught her arm. Before she could react, he whispered _I'll think about it_ against her temple, and left her standing dumbfounded in the street.


	6. Draco

Her vanilla shampoo lingered on his nose for far longer than he cared to admit. He wasn't sure what had propelled him to get so close to her, but he hated himself for it. And he hated her. He hated her for her sweet smelling hair, and her accusing honey eyes. He hated her for continuing to show concern for him, like he deserved it. He surely didn't. And he hated her most for her ability to make him question himself. 

Returning to Hogwarts had never once crossed his mind. But as he shuffled aimlessly down the dim London street, the prospect didn't seem as repulsive as it once did. The idea of sitting in a hospital every day for the near future was depressing, but he couldn't stomach straying too far from his mother. Hermione had been right about one thing; Hogwarts was a place to go. But was another year in that dreadful school really the best option? It's not like many other places would take in an ex-death eater. Draco didn't necessarily care much about his future anymore, but he knew his mother did. She wouldn't want to see him waste the life she tried so hard to save. 

Draco sighed, knowing there wasn't much of another option. 

_Bloody Granger,_ he thought to himself. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being right. But then again, seeing her shocked face if he showed up on the train that day might be worth it.

His focused returned to the empty street around him. The night had grown dark, the streetlamps lit in their ghostly glows. He wasn't sure where he'd ended up, or how far he was from the hospital. He suspected it wasn't far, but an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit him like the night bus, and he knew another night sleeping in a hospital chair would surely ruin his neck. And asking Hermione to set up a bed for him would surely kill his pride. 

Before he could even stop himself, he felt the air press in around him in the familiar sense of apparition. It felt like being forced through an incredibly tight tube, but the sensation was over before it even began. When reality shifted back into focus, he found himself in front of the house he'd grown familiar with over the past two months.

The front door opened with a smack, and Draco watched the familiar silhouette of his aunt rush out.

"I thought I heard an apparition crack," she said, her words tumbling together in a rush. "Where have you been? I've been so worried." Andromeda plowed into him, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. 

"You have?"

"Of course I have you bloody idiot," she stammered, putting an arms length between them so she could get a better look at his face. 

"I've been with mother," he admitted. 

"How is she doing?"

Draco's jaw noticeably tightened.

"Come in the house, Draco," she insisted, her hand still resting gently on his arm as she ushered him inside. He didn't resist.

"I just put Teddy to bed," she said once they were through the door. She led them through the house and into the small kitchen, flipping a light on as she went. She gestured for him to sit at the table while she leaned a hip into the counter. The dim light above the sink sent harsh shadows across her face, and Draco really noticed how much she resembled Bellatrix. Her hair was lighter and less wild, her eyes wider and kinder. But the likeness to her more formidable sister was still uncanny. 

"That little man is as restless as his mother was." Draco heard the mourning in Andromeda's voice, her eyes glazed in a distant memory. "He looks so much like Nymphadora too. His hair is already changing colors daily." She released a humorless chuckle. Draco offered her a condoling expression.

"I'm sorry," she said, snapping back to the present. "It's been harder by myself."

"I should have come back sooner," Draco said. "I honestly didn't think you'd miss me for a few days."

"Why would you think that?"

"You and I don't always get along, Dromeda."

She laughed.

"Most families usually don't. Doesn't mean I want you here any less. You and Cissa are all I have left, besides Teddy." 

"I know," Draco sighed.

"How is she?"

"Come and go. She regained consciousness, but her body still thinks she's being cursed. The healer says we'll just have to wait and see what happens. She isn't getting any worse at least." 

Andromedas shoulders fell.

"When you both didn't come home from the trial, I knew something had happened. I would have come after you both, but I couldn't leave Teddy here. And then the hospital sent an owl two mornings ago, saying that's where you'd ended up. It's been a long few days without you both." 

"There's not much you could have done," Draco shrugged.

"I could have been there for you," she said solemnly. 

"I've been fine," he lied. 

"Where have you been sleeping?"

"The hospital. The nurses were kind enough at least to let me me use the showers too."

"You could have come here."

"I know, I just... I couldn't bring myself to leave her," he admitted, shoulders sagging.

"What changed?"

Draco thought of Hermione. 

"My neck can't take another night sleeping in those fucking chairs," he lied, laying the distaste in his voice on a little too thick. Andromeda gave him an accusatory glance, but the edges of her lips raised in a smile.

"The guest bed is yours as long as you need it." Draco nodded to her in thanks.

"Really, Draco. I know your mother and I have never really been that close, and I was never around much. But I-"

"Don't get all soft on me, Dromeda," Draco cut off. "Leave the blubbering to the baby." He gave her a half-hearted grin, hoping to avoid an emotional conversation. He'd never been good at those. 

"Piss off," she chuckled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. 

"I think I'm going to catch up some sleep," he said, rising from his chair. 

"Alright," she breathed. He made to leave, but one of her tanned hands shot out to grasp his wrist.

"Just... just let me know if you're going to leave again, okay?" she faltered, her arm dropping back to her side.

"I will," he promised, before ducking out of the room.

Andromeda obviously hadn't been in the spare bedroom since he'd left. His sheets were still mussed, clothes still crumpled on the floor. He'd only been gone a few days, but he sighed in relief at the thought of sleeping in an actual bed. His neck had taken a painful toll the past two nights. 

He slipped his shoes off carelessly, and moved across the room, wanting nothing more than to sleep undisturbed til morning. But a crumpled letter on the floor caught his attention, and he bent to pick it up. The ivory parchment was familiar against his fingertips, the green ink a stark contrast against it. He sighed, and seated himself on the edge of the bed, slowly uncrumpling the letter he'd tossed aside weeks before.

_Dear Mr. D. Malfoy..._

"Are you thinking of going back?" Andromeda asked in the doorway. He hadn't heard her approach.

"They don't want me there," he said coldly, his eyes remaining on the paper in his hands.

"They'd hardly send you a letter if they didn't."

"The old bat McGonagall probably figured she had to," he scoffed.

"I don't think Minerva has ever done anything she didn't want to do, when she could help it." Draco lifted his eyes to Andromeda. 

"I think it'd be good for you," she continued.

"Since when do you know what's good for me?" 

"Sleep on it," she smiled.

And so he did.


	7. Hermione

Hermione didn't see Draco at all that Thursday. She avoided the 4th floor most of the day altogether. She'd walked in that morning and stumbled upon Luna nestled against Neville's shoulder, their hands entwined. He'd met Hermione's eyes with the first genuine smile she'd seen in weeks, and she'd given them their privacy. She wasn't sure what had convinced Neville to finally tell Lovegood, but she had a small suspicion Draco had had something to do with it. Whatever the case, Hermione was happy to see them close again.

She was even happier to leave early that afternoon, hoping to head back to The Leaky Cauldron and pack her school trunks. But she hadn't been home five minutes before a familiar scops owl pecked it's beak against her window.

"Hello, Pidwidgeon," she greeted, opening the window for the erratic bird. It dropped a letter into her open palms, and immediately flew off. She recognized Harry's messy scribble instantly.

_Burrow tonight. 7 o' clock._

Hermione groaned audibly. She couldn't avoid them forever, especially with school starting in just a few days. Molly had probably cooked up a nice dinner for one last get together, and she'd especially hate to disappoint Mrs. Weasley by not showing. She eyed the empty trunk at the foot of her bed. Packing would just have to wait.

She peeled off her clothes and hopped in the shower, washing away the sweat and grime from the hospital. She eyed herself in the mirror afterwards, noting how dull her eyes seemed, how tired her skin looked. She'd never cared much for her mousy brown mane, and the long waves were as unruly as ever, even while wet. She plaited them lazily at the back of her head, and decided it was good enough. She threw on a yellow, knitted sweater, and a casual pair of blue jeans. The august weather was still slightly warm, but Hermione's closet didn't consist of much that wasn't long sleeved. She said a silent, sarcastic thank you to Bellatrix for that.

Hermione released an exasperated sigh, counting down the minutes until she left for the Burrow.

\---------------------------------------------

The Weasleys' home was just as Hermione remembered it. It was crooked and cluttered, but just cozy and welcoming enough that she barely even noticed. A warm gust of air hit her as she passed through the front door, and she was immediately overwhelmed by the sweet smell of something baking in the oven.

"Is that you dear?" Molly's silvery voice rang from the other side of the kitchen, her arms elbow deep in the soapy sink. Hermione came up behind her and left a kiss on her cheek.

"I'm so glad you could make it," Mrs. Weasley smiled at her. "I wasn't sure if we'd see you again before Tuesday."

"I wouldn't have missed it," Hermione said. "Can I help with anything?"

"Absolutely not. I'm almost done anyways. The boys should all be upstairs. Ginny too. Go on up, and bring them down, would you?"

Hermione smiled and made her way through the jumbled house to the stairs, nearly colliding with George. He'd lost a few pounds since she'd last seen him, and his red hair was in desperate need of a trim. She could see the sadness etched clearly in his features, even as he pasted on his usual goofy grin. It made him look so much older than he was.

"Hey Mione," he said, pulling her into a hug. He was a good head taller than Hermione, her face just meeting his chest. She returned his hug sincerely, her arms wrapping tightly around his lean torso. He smelled like laundry detergent and cinnamon.

"It's good to see you, George," she spoke into his shirt.

"You too," he pulled back to an arms length. She offered him a weak smile.

"Food's nearly done," she said, gesturing to the kitchen. He nodded.

"They're all up in Ron's room," he gave her arm a squeeze before heading off to the kitchen.

Hermione watched him go before turning back to head up the stairs. She could hear muffled voices as she climbed higher, and soon, the voices became distinct. Her footsteps echoed across the landing, and Ginny immediately flew out of Ron's doorway.

"You came!" Ginny flew towards her, arms outstretched. Hermione caught her in a firm hug.

"Of course I did, Gin. You'd never let me hear the end of it if I didn't."

"You're damn right," the fiery, red head laughed.

"Is that Mione?" Ron yelled.

"Who else would it be?" Ginny mocked, moving aside as Ron bounded out from his room, Harry close behind. Ron wrapped an arm across her shoulder, pulling her close.

"I've missed you," he whispered, softly kissing her hair. She gave him a weak smile.

"Molly told me to bring you all down for dinner."

"Brilliant," Harry gleamed. "I'm starving." He grabbed Ginny's hand and rushed back down through the house. Hermione hesitantly looked up at Ron. He gave her a quick wink, and led her back down to the kitchen.

Molly was flicking her wand around like an orchestrator. Hermione ducked her head as plates floated seamlessly down to the table, silverware following close behind. The table was set for 7, and Hermione sat in the open seat next to Ginny and Harry, forcing Ron to sit opposite her by George. She casually avoided his eyes.

The food was the last to appear on the table, as Molly pulled the last pie from the oven. The scents that filled the room were mouthwatering, and Hermione fully comprehended how empty her stomach was.

"Eat up," Molly beamed, taking her seat next to George.

"What about dad?" Ginny asked as everyone began to fill their plates.

"Should be here any minute."

An apparition crack echoed in from the front lawn.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Molly laughed.

"Sorry I'm late," Arthur Weasley marched into the kitchen, giving them all a lopsided grin. "Got tied up at the Ministry." He threw his briefcase on the counter and strode over to his wife, placing a thoughtful kiss to her temple. He promptly sat at the head of the table and began filling up his own plate.

"Ah, Hermione," he said, catching sight of her. "I'm glad you're here. I have word from Kingsley."

Hermione felt her body go rigid, the fork in her hand stilled. All eyes at the table turned to her.

"He made it there safely, and is doing all he can. There's not much else to update, but he said to not lose hope yet." Mr. Weasley gave her a sympathetic look. "He'll reach out again soon."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, her eyes focused on her plate. She felt Ginny pat her leg.

"Everything will work out," Ginny whispered. Hermione desperately wanted to believe that.

They ate in an awkward silence, the only noise the scraping of silverware against their plates. If they'd had any questions, Hermione was thankful they kept them to themselves. She'd been keen in keeping her thoughts off of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the task she'd asked of him. The task that had sent him to Australia.

"Anything interesting from the hospital?" Harry asked, breaking Hermione from her thoughts.

She immediately thought of Draco, but stopped herself. He surely hadn't asked her to keep his secrets, but she still felt traitorous revealing his business.

"Not really," Hermione shrugged, deciding it wasn't her story to tell. "Same old, same old." She caught sight of Ron from the corner of her eye, taking a generous swig of his drink. No one else seemed to notice.

"They've been keeping you busy over there," Molly said. "I hope you've had the time to get your school things together." Molly eyed Harry accusingly.

"I'm going tomorrow, Mrs. Weasley," Harry laughed, catching her look. "I promise."

"You better," Ginny interjected. Hermione was grateful the attention had moved elsewhere, though she could still feel Ron's eyes on her. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he turned away.

Dinner continued smoothly after that. Mr. Weasley informed them all of his comings and goings at the Ministry. The conversation drifted to Percy for a while. Their relationship with him had been strained for some time before the battle, but it had been slowly mending over the summer. He still lived elsewhere, but he made visits often, to the delight of his mother. She'd already lost one son. Hermione knew it would break her to lose another.

They never broached the subject of Fred. The pain was still too fresh for all of them. Hermione noticed George's constant head tilt, as if he was turning to say something to the missing twin. He'd catch himself, and his face would fall. Hermione found it utterly heartbreaking. Ron hid his feelings better, his face composed. But she watched him nurse his drink all night, and Hermione suspected he'd spiked it. She couldn't say she condoned his actions, but she knew how tempting it was to accept anything that numbed the pain.

On the outside, the family seemed as normal as ever. But Hermione noticed everything.

\---------------------------------------------

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn't hung around long after dinner was finished and the table was cleared. They both had said their goodnights, along with George, who'd been the first to trudge back upstairs.

"We'll see you at the station then," Molly had said as she hugged Hermione one more time.

"Thank you again for the lovely dinner."

"Anytime dear."

"Keep your chin up," Mr. Weasley had whispered, before following his wife upstairs. That left just Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who now had moved to the living room, taking their seats in front of the fire place. Ron filled the armchair, while Hermione and Ginny took the loveseat, Harry on the floor at Ginny's feet. She absentmindedly played with his unruly black hair while Ron took another sip of the drink he'd carried along.

"I'm going to miss your mothers cooking," Harry chuckled.

"Hogwarts has the best pumpkin pasties though," Ron laughed.

"I wonder if they rebuilt it the same as it was," Ginny added.

"I'm sure McGonagall changed a few things," Hermione said.

"I hope she finally got rid of Filch. Or peeves." Ron scoffed.

"You know she wouldn't."

"I wonder who the new Dark Arts teacher is," Harry whispered, his eyes focused on the flames before them.

Ginny yawned. "Guess we'll find out."

"Tired already?" Harry laughed beneath her.

"It's hard not to be after a meal like that."

Hermione stretched her arms, feigning a yawn. "Ginny has a point," Hermione said, her voice relaxed. "I should probably get back soon before I fall asleep on your couch." Ron's eyes flew to her.

"You could stay," Ginny offered.

"I know, but tomorrow's my last day at the hospital, and it's an early shift." Hermione stood.

"Alright then," Ginny smiled. "See you Tuesday?"

"Of course."

Ron got to his feet.

"I'll walk you out," he said.

"You don't have to," Hermione said as casually as she could.

Ron threw an arm around her shoulder anyways. "I want to."

She allowed him to walk her back through the kitchen and out the front door, before ducking out of his arm.

"Tell your mother I said thank you again," Hermione said, putting some distance between them as he followed her into the yard.

"I will," he said quietly, his tone serious.

"Well, I better be going." She offered him a feeble smile.

"You know you could stay," he whispered.

"I really do have an early morning tomorrow, and I won't get any sleep on that loveseat," she laughed humorlessly.

"You could sleep with me," he said, taking a step towards her. Hermione's body stiffened.

"Ron, I-"

"Hermione," he interrupted, running his thumb along her jaw.

"I have to go, Ron." She said, keeping her voice strong as his hand palmed her cheek.

"Fine," he said, his face mere inches from hers. "Kiss me goodbye then?"

Hermione didn't move an inch as he moved closer, his breath skimming across her nose. She wasn't sure how much firewhisky he'd been slipping into his pumpkin juice, but she could smell it on his breath, hear it in his slurred words.

She kept her body rigid, her lips unmoving, as his mouth pressed into hers. She prayed for it to be over soon, but her lack of response seemed to goad him on further. His free hand flew to clench her plaited hair, while his tongue snaked it's way into her mouth. She pushed against his chest with her palms, but he was a lot stronger than she was, and his arms kept her close. His teeth dug roughly into her lip, and she whimpered. His grip tightened on her braid as she struggled against him, pulling so roughly that tears formed at the edges of her eyes. He broke his mouth away to catch a breath, and she felt her fist connect with his cheek. He stumbled away, his fingers catching on the band that held her hair together, ripping it away so her hair fell loose. Her scalp stung, and her fingers ached where she'd struck him.

"What the fuck, Hermione," he asked, rubbing the side of his face.

"How dare you, Ronald," she cried, wiping her mouth with the arm of her sweater.

"Oh lighten up, Mione. It's not like we haven't kissed before."

Hermione felt her body shake with fury.

"Mione, I-I'm sorry," he slurred, his voice showing no signs of remorse. "I've just missed you." He reached a hand out towards her hair again.

"Don't fucking touch me," she said, her voice dripping with rage. And before the sob in her throat threatened to wrack her chest, she apparated away, leaving Ron alone with his arm outstretched.

\---------------------------------------------

Hermione found herself back in her dimly lit bedroom at The Leaky Cauldron. Her knees threatened to give out as she stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the sink for dear life, as if the porcelain held her to the ground. She watched herself in the mirror, her chest heaving, arms trembling. Her lips were swollen, and it felt as if her lungs were collapsing, her breathing sporadic and painful.

_She couldn't breathe._

Tears poured from her eyes, distorting her vision. Her hair now fell loose around her, and she gathered the strength to roughly run her fingers through her sore roots. Her fists balled around her hair, and she fought the sudden overwhelming urge to rip handfuls of it out of her scalp. She could still feel Ron's rough hands.

 _Get rid of it, get rid of it, get rid of it,_ her brain screamed.

Her feet started moving before she could stop them, and she ran to the other room and threw open her bag. The familiar glint of silver caught her eye, and she carried the scissors back to the bathroom. She caught herself in the mirror again, her eyes red, but determined. She took a shaky breath and steadied her hands. She grabbed a chunk of her mousy brown hair, and heard a satisfying _snip._

The oxygen that flooded her lungs was _delicious._


	8. Draco

Draco had slept more in the past 36 hours than he had in the past week. He'd woken mid-afternoon Thursday for the sole purpose of using the bathroom. He'd found Andromeda cooing at Teddy in his nursery, and had quietly stood in the doorway, listening to his happy gurgles. He slinked back to his bedroom before she'd noticed him, unwilling to tarnish their untroubled moment. 

He'd fallen back asleep almost immediately, his mind temporarily content. He dreamt of brown eyes and green apples, a welcome exchange to his usual nightmares. But the imagery was lost to him when he woke at 6 a.m. Friday morning. His stomach wailed in hunger, and he desperately needed a shower. 

The house was quiet, so Draco soundlessly shuffled to the bathroom. He stripped, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. The heat stung his skin, and it felt like he could melt down the drain with the rest of the water. His unused muscles relaxed, his pale skin reddened. The temperature was almost painful, but Draco relished the feeling. 

He let the water wash everything away. 

He stepped out of the shower once his body was numb, and dried himself off, ruffling his hair in a towel. He met his own gaze in the bathroom mirror, his ashen eyes clear and awake. His blonde hair fell across his forehead messily, and he ran his fingers through it to slick it back. His eyes didn't linger long on his bare torso; he didn't need the reminder of the scars embedded in his skin. He headed back to his room, and threw a thin sweater over his head. 

His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since he'd gone out with Hermione. 

He scoffed. He hadn't gone out with Granger. 

He'd hardly enjoyed himself, or the food, especially not the company. Hermione was still as insufferable as she'd been in school. She was still quick to bicker with him, but Draco could tell she didn't mean it nearly as much as she used to. She'd become timid, or at least, that's what she wanted people to believe. Draco could see how badly she wanted to please the people around her, even if it went against herself. She kept a brave face when she thought someone was looking, but Draco knew it was just that; _a face._

_Typical Gryffindor._

Draco cringed, realizing she wasn't really all that different from him. She was tired, she was in pain, and she was choosing to silently suffer alone. 

In that, they were equal. And that bothered him. 

The only question was, what was affecting her so deeply? And why did Draco suddenly care?

 _He didn't,_ he reminded himself. _It's just bloody Granger._

Granger. Who he'd tormented most of their childhood. Who had punched him in third year. Who'd been tortured in his own house by his own flesh and blood. And who'd _still_ offered to make him a bed. Who'd accepted the idea of his return to Hogwarts, after all he'd done. Who'd brought him coffee with creamer and sat with him in the hospital. And whose brown eyes reflected a sadness that matched his own. 

_Fucking hell._

Somehow in the past five days, she'd gotten under his skin. And he wasn't sure if that made him loathe her more, or less. 

"Earth to Draco." His attention snapped to the doorway. Andromeda stood there, eyeing him warily.

"What?" he asked, noticing he'd been standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing.

"I asked if you'd care for some breakfast, but you were clearly somewhere else."

"I'm here," he scoffed.

"Right," his aunt laughed. "Come eat something." She headed off to the kitchen, and Draco mutely followed. 

Andromeda hummed as she pulled eggs and bacon from the fridge. She glided through the kitchen with ease, pulling pans from cabinets and heating them on the stove. 

Draco noticed she cooked without magic, just like his mother did. 

"Why don't you use your wand for that? It's less work."

She smiled as she laid strips of bacon into the hot skillet, an immediate sizzle ringing throughout the room. The scent made Draco's mouth water.

"I like cooking this way," she said. "It's more rewarding." 

Draco shrugged indifferently.

"I'm heading back to the hospital this morning," he warned.

"I figured you would be," Andromeda said, her back to him as she whisked 4 eggs into a bowl. "Don't sleep there anymore. I wasn't sure if you'd ever wake up." She turned and gave him a teasing smirk. 

"Believe me, I won't."

The eggs hissed as Andromeda poured them into a clean pan on the stove. 

"Have you made a decision about Hogwarts?" she asked. Draco pondered her question for a moment. 

"I don't know."

"You should probably figure that out," she said. "If you want to get supplies in time that is."

"I'm fully aware of that, thank you," Draco sneered.

"It was only a suggestion." Andromeda paused. "Maybe you should talk to your mother about it."

"Good idea," he spat bitterly. "Let me ask my semi-conscious and unresponsive mother her opinion."

Andromeda fully turned to him, her eyes sympathetic. 

"She might not talk to you, but you might still get your answer."

"What in the bloody hell does that mean?"

Andromeda turned back to the stove.

"It means you should at least try." 

\---------------------------------------------

Neither Neville nor Hermione were on the 4th floor when Draco arrived. The morning sun flooded the room through the windows, illuminating everything in a warm, golden glow. Most of the patients were still sleeping, the only one awake being catered to by a nurse. He took the seat next to his mother's bed, and entwined her hand with his. Her skin felt warmer than he remembered, but the color was still pale. His thumb skimmed the inside of her wrist, and he felt her pulse gently thrum against his fingertip. Her eyes were closed, her lips dry. She looked so much older than she was. 

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," the nurse strode over, offering him a small smile.

"Mr. Malfoy is my father," he said, emotionless.

"Of course," she chirped. 

"How is she?" he demanded, his eyes never leaving his mother.

"Stable. She gains consciousness now and again, but not for very long. We keep her supplied with the necessary nutrients, since she doesn't wake long enough to eat. The tremors aren't as extensive, but her body still has it's defenses up."

"Can she talk?"

"She hasn't yet, but that doesn't mean she can't." 

Draco's jaw clenched.

"Give her time. She's been through a lot."

"I'm fully aware of what she's been through," Draco spat. "I was there."

The nurse quieted, and left before he could say anything else. The door clicked softly behind her. 

Draco tightened his grip on Narcissa's hand, forcing a deep breath through his lungs. 

"Hello mother," he whispered. "It's Draco."

She didn't stir. 

"This is bloody stupid," Draco hissed. "I don't know what the hell Andromeda expected."

His eyes started to sting. 

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, more to himself than anything. He squeezed his mother's hand briefly. "I just... I just need a sign." 

He didn't know how long he sat there unmoving, but the sound of the door reopening shook him from his trance. He recognized the light footsteps, and the signature vanilla scent that wafted in with them. She didn't say anything as she walked right past, her focus on the clipboard and vials in her hands. Draco watched her restock a medicine cart near the end of the room, obviously too preoccupied to have noticed him. She must have felt his gaze on her though; her head spun quickly to meet his eyes, and his breath caught. 

Her hair was inches shorter, the wild curls just extending past her chin. The untamed locks still held their natural bushy brown shade, but they somehow seemed shinier, like gold haloing her petite face. It accentuated her molten eyes, and Draco fully noticed how slender her neck was. She looked almost healthier, radiant even, like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Draco caught himself unable to look away. 

"Staring again, are we?" Hermione asked curtly, her eyes fixing back on the vials in her hands.

"Your hair is shorter," he stammered. "It looks ni-."

"How observant, Malfoy," she interrupted, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Feel free to keep your snide comments to yourself."

"Fucking hell, Granger. I was only going to say it looks nice!"

"What?" she asked, swiftly turning back to him, her eyes wide.

"It looks nice," he reluctantly repeated. "It suits you." 

"Oh. Um... thanks," her cheeks flushed a warm pink. "I, uh... I cut it myself." 

"What spawned that decision?" 

Hermione stilled.

"Change is good," was the only answer she offered. Draco sensed there was something she didn't want to share.

"Right."

"Hey, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off there."

"Yeah whatever," he said.

Hermione sighed. "I had a long night. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"Tell it to someone who cares," he gritted, hiding the spike of his curiosity.

She huffed impatiently. "Right." 

She continued replacing vials in silence, the only noise the soft clink of glass. He forced himself not to look at her again. Draco heard the tap of her pencil against the clipboard, and the return of her soft pacing. Her feet hesitated as she neared him, and then stopped altogether. He unwillingly met her eyes. 

"Something I can help you with?" he asked bitterly. 

"No, I was just wondering if..." she hugged the clipboard tightly to her chest, and Draco noticed the bruises on her knuckles. She caught the direction of his eyes, and dropped one hand to her side, angling it behind her hip. "If I'd be seeing you at school?" 

His eyes returned to hers.

"Today is my last day here. I just wanted to know if I should say goodbye." Draco stood from his chair, silently closing the distance between them. Her eyes dropped to her feet.

"It was a stupid question, sorry," she mumbled, avoiding his stare. He reached a tentative hand out to grasp her wrist, slowly pulling her hand back into view. Her body stiffened, but she didn't pull away as he lightly ran his thumb over her discolored knuckles. 

"Run your fist through something lately, Granger?" he asked, her eyes still avoiding him. 

"You didn't answer my question," she stated.

"And you didn't answer mine."

Her eyes finally met his. She chewed on her bottom lip.

"I punched Ron," she whispered. Draco didn't believe what he'd heard.

"You what?"

"I punched Ron," she repeated, her voice raising an octave.

Draco couldn't stop the laugh that erupted from him.

"Bloody hell, Granger." His eyes studied her bruised hand. "I know how that one feels. Weasley must have really deserved it."

Hermione's eyes fell again, a loose curl cascading in front of her face. 

"He did." 

Draco's laughs died in his throat at the seriousness that flooded her voice. Before he could stop himself, his free hand lifted to gently push the stray hair behind her ear, tilting her chin back up to look at him.

"Everything alright?" 

A wave of emotions tumbled through her honey eyes, before she quickly regained some composure, and locked them firmly back in place. 

"You still haven't answered my question, Malfoy." Her voice vibrated through his fingers, their faces mere inches apart.

"That depends."

"On?"

"Next time you hit Weasley, I want to watch."

A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. 

"Deal."


	9. Hermione

Tuesday

September 1

1998

The Hogwarts Express looked the same as it always had, the scarlet steam engine glimmering brightly on the track. Over the steam trains billowing smoke, a sign announced its 11 a.m. departure, and Hermione watched as witches and wizards of all ages said their final goodbyes. Students rushed around the platform, bearing enormous trunks and miscellaneous caged animals. Hermione's own cat, Crookshanks, lay snoozing in his crate, choosing to remain oblivious to the bustling station around him. She pulled her trunk casually behind her, recognizing some familiar faces. 

Cho Chang stood with a group of fellow Ravenclaws, their easy laughter audible even across the platform. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were already deep in conversation as they boarded the train, followed closely by Padma and Parvati Patil, their arms linked. Hermione spotted Luna sharing a heartfelt goodbye with her father, Xenophilius, their blonde hair and dazed expressions especially noticeable in the hoard of people. Everything seemed so normal, and every family seemed so happy. And there she was, completely alone. 

Hermione's chest suddenly felt too tight. She stopped in her tracks, her feet heavy as lead. The people around her blurred into an indistinguishable haze as she fought to keep her composure. 

_Alone, alone, alone,_ her brain screamed. _They aren't here, and you're alone._

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't break down here, not now. 

_Think of something else, think of something else._

"Daydreaming again, Granger?" a familiar voice said behind her ear. Her eyes shot open as she inhaled sharply. 

"Just waiting for you to catch up." Her voice was weak, and she knew it. She prayed Draco wouldn't notice.

"Your jokes are getting old," he griped.

"I'm not here to entertain you." She turned to meet his eyes.

"What are you here for then?" His eyebrow quirked, almost imperceptibly.

Hermione took a tentative look around them. She suddenly felt very small.

"I'm not sure yet."

Draco paused, clearly not expecting that answer. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but he snapped it shut and broke their eye contact. 

"Well, you better decide soon. Train leaves in 10 minutes." His tone was indifferent, but Hermione could see the strain in his jaw. 

Draco stalked off without another word, catching sight of Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. The three Slytherins didn't look especially friendly, or even pleased to see each other, but they boarded together just the same. He didn't look back. 

"Oi, Hermione," Ginny's shrill voice rang. Hermione swiveled to see Harry, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley pushing their way though the crowd towards her, Ron sulking behind them.

"There you are, dear. We almost didn't recognize you." Molly pulled her into a tight hug. "Ready to go?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Hermione forced a smile. 

"It looks nice," Ginny gestured to her hair. Ron didn't look at her.

"Thanks, Gin," Hermione said. "Where's Mr. Weasley?" she asked Molly.

"Arthur and George send their love."

"Dad had to be at the Ministry," Ginny explained. "And George... well he..."

"I understand," Hermione interrupted. "Send them both my thanks," she said to Molly.

"I will, dear. Now, all of you on the train!" Mrs. Weasley gave them all a final hug before shooing them away. Ron stalked off without a word, boarding first.

"Wait up, you git," Ginny hissed.

Hermione had a feeling Ron hadn't told them about their little altercation.

"Are you sitting with us, Mione?" The four of them paused in the entryway of a train car.

"Sorry Gin. I have to be in the prefects carriage. McGonagall asked me to be head girl."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Ginny beamed. "See you at Hogwarts then." She whisked away to find empty seats. Harry hovered for a moment, Ron still silent.

"It really does look nice," he said.

"Thanks, Harry." He smiled and headed off to find Ginny, leaving Ron brooding behind. Hermione turned in the opposite direction.

"It looked better before," Ron gritted, but Hermione didn't look back.

The train whistled, announcing their departure, and the hiss of the pistons filled the air as the train began to move. Hermione strode off through the cars, passing Draco and his Slytherin crew. He didn't look at her as she rushed by. 

The prefects carriage was empty when she arrived, and Hermione relished the few moments of undisturbed peace. She threw her trunk in an overhead compartment, and placed Crookshanks' cage on the seat beside her. She released the breath she'd been holding, and sank into the cushioned booth, her eyes stinging.

She already missed the confines of the hospital. 

\---------------------------------------------

The train bumped along it's destined track, every passing minute leading them closer to Hogwarts. The rhythmic clicks of the wheels calmed Hermione slightly, and she fully realized that no one else had come to the prefect car yet. 

_Had she gone to the wrong carriage?_

Before she could stand to investigate, long, silvery threads of light phased through the window. The cabin was filled with blinding strands of magic, and they collected along the floor, fusing into a familiar feline shape. A bright, translucent cat materialized before her, and she immediately recognized McGonagall's corporeal patronus.

"Hello, Miss Granger," the cat spoke. It's mouth remained unmoving, the message simply emanating from the white wisps of the feline messenger. "As you may be aware, the prefects carriage is unusually empty. I have not been able to assign prefect roles as of yet, nor that of Head Boy. I knew only that I could count on you, and I must do so once again. I trust you wholeheartedly to choose an appropriate Head Boy for the year. I will select prefects later in the week. I apologize for asking so much of you. Please find me upon arrival." McGonagall's voice dissolved with her patronus, leaving the carriage empty once again. Hermione simply stared at the space in the floor where the cat had disappeared. 

She had to choose a Head Boy.

_McGonagall had too much faith in her._

How was she expected to make the right decision? Head Boy was a big responsibility, and McGonagall had to know that. 

But then again, McGonagall knew Hermione.

Her first thoughts went to Harry. But she immediately nixed that idea. He was too impulsive, and he'd never liked authority. She remembered how much convincing it had taken for him to head Dumbledore's army, and teach defensive spells to all his classmates. Plus, he'd never been a prefect, and though that wasn't a requirement to be Head Boy, she knew it'd be a lot for him to learn. 

Her musings led her next to Ron. He'd been a prefect with her since 5th year. She knew how much Head Boy would mean to him, and to his family. Molly would be thrilled. But, Hermione knew she couldn't choose Ron just to please Mrs. Weasley. Especially not with how Ron had been deteriorating. She wondered if Minerva knew how much this would hurt her, but Hermione just couldn't choose Ron. 

An image of a brooding blonde entered her head. _He'd been a prefect too,_ Hermione thought. But she knew better than to think the school would be welcoming of a former death eater on duty. She couldn't do that to him. He probably wouldn't want the job anyways. 

_"He just wants everyone to think he's capable."_

Hermione paused, Draco's words flooding back to her. No, Malfoy shouldn't be Head Boy. But he'd given her a clear idea of who should be. 

She rushed out of the cabin in search of Neville.


	10. Draco

Mercifully, Draco's carriage was all but empty, minus his Slytherin acquaintances and a few stragglers. The younger students seemed to be unaware of the former titles the three Slytherin boys had recently possessed. Most of the train's passengers had avoided the small group of ex death eaters, and Draco relished the quiet. If not for the bickering of his two classmates, the train ride might have been enjoyable.

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were exactly the same as Draco remembered. Theo was a weedy boy, tall and thin, like he'd been stretched too far. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in brains, though he hid his cleverness behind quirkiness. His upbeat attitude was far opposite of the vain boy beside him. Blaise was dark-skinned, with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes. He held an air of arrogance that rivaled even Malfoy's, though his prejudice far surpassed Draco's. He looked down on everyone and everything, and he wasn't afraid to be blatantly obvious about it. 

"Here comes Granger again," Theo whispered

Draco caught sight of Hermione skittering through their carriage, a determined look on her face. If she'd heard Theo's musings, she chose to ignore them. 

"She cut her hair," Theo said once the door had snapped shut behind her. "She looks kinda pretty."

"You into mudbloods now, Nott?" Blaise teased. "And Gryffindor mudbloods no less." 

Something in Draco's stomach tensed. 

"I don't think you're her type," Blaise continued. "She's more into weasels of the ginger kind. Poor git. I bet she keeps that stick up her ass in the bedroom too."

Draco clenched his fists.

"Think about that often, do you Zabini?" Draco said, keeping his tone indifferent. Theo couldn't hide his chuckle.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at him.

"Didn't think we'd see you back this year, Malfoy."

"Didn't think I was coming back either."

"Why did you?" Theo asked, curious. 

Draco merely shrugged.

"My father forced me back here," Theo admitted. "Can't say I'm happy about it. What about you, Blaise?"

"Dear old Mum is moving on to husband number 7. I didn't want to stick around."

"Anyone else?"

"I saw Parkinson board too," Blaise admitted.

"Pansy?" Theo asked.

"Do you know another Parkinson?" 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted of their unimportant banter. 

"Is she with Longbottom now?" Theo asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Pansy?" Blaise laughed. "Good one."

"No, not Pansy, you dumb ass. Granger." Theo gestured to Hermione re-entering their the car, Neville in tow. She met Draco's eyes, the corner of her lip rising almost imperceptibly.

Longbottom looked as confused as Draco felt. 

Her subtle, vanilla notes wafted through the car with her, and he tilted his head slightly to watch her departure through the corner of his eye. If his memory served him correctly, they were adjacent to the prefects car, and Draco hadn't seen the rest of the golden trio pass this way.

He hid a knowing smile. 

The two Gryffindors didn't pass them again the rest of the trip, though Blaise and Theo's quarrels lasted up until the train stopped. 

"You two argue like a married couple," Draco scoffed, not hiding the irritation in his voice. 

"Piss off, Malfoy," they said in unison. Draco suppressed a chuckle. 

The two boys stood and grabbed their trunks to exit. The younger students looked to rush by, and Draco let them, still in his seat. Neville entered their car then, rushing to grab his trunks probably. He hadn't brought them with to the prefects car. Nott and Zabini were forced to leave to make way for the 3 students behind them, leaving Draco in the empty car. He sighed, and reluctantly stood, wondering if it was too late to change his mind.

The door behind him slid open, and Draco prepared his nostrils for the sweet smell he knew was coming. 

"Granger," he said, grabbing his trunk from above him.

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head, Malfoy?" 

He stifled another laugh.

"No, just an acute sense of smell."

"Excuse me?"

Draco turned to study her face, her cheeks blossoming pink. 

"Calm down, Granger. It's just your shampoo."

"Oh." If it was even possible, her cheeks reddened further. "Is that how you always know it's me?"

"That, and your unending aptitude of being a thorn in my side."

Hermione straightened, her brown eyes narrowing at him.

"Well, forgive me _Malfoy._ I didn't know I had quite the effect on you." She attempted to push past him, but he purposefully blocked the aisle.

"Move, please," she gritted, her eyes looking straight ahead into his chest. 

"And what will you do if I don't?" She huffed impatiently, still averting her gaze.

"What happened to all the fight in you, Granger. Are you so quick to give up now?" Her eyes finally met his, an unknown emotion clouding them. She chewed her bottom lip. 

"I won't waste my energy on the likes of you, Malfoy."

He took a step towards her, and to his surprise, she stood her ground, her chin rising to keep their eye contact. 

"We'll see," he breathed, his tone bordering on threatening. Her full lips parted slightly as she sharply inhaled. Draco's empty hand clenched into a fist, and before he could do something regrettable, he turned on his heel and strode out of the car, forcing the images of her mouth out of his mind. 

Theo and Blaise stood impatiently on the platform, obviously annoyed he'd made them wait. He offered no explanation, and instead strode past them towards an empty, Thestral pulled carriage. The creatures resembled bony, winged horses, though their wings did not possess any feathers at all. They were black and leathery instead, resembling that of a bat. Their dragon-like faces bore white, glittering eyes that lacked both expression and pupils. Their dark skin was nearly transparent, the bones underneath clearly defined. Draco found them simultaneously eerie and beautiful. 

Theo and Blaise followed him into the carriage, and the Thestrals immediately started to move, pulling the boys from Hogsmeade station all the way to the gates of Hogwarts. Draco bit back the wave of panic that suddenly enveloped him at the sight of the castle. It loomed over them in the distance, seeming even larger than he remembered. It had been rebuilt to look exactly as it had before, from what Draco could see in the dark. The windows were lit brightly from the inside, in what Draco guessed was a welcome sign to the oncoming student body. It seemed merely foreboding to him. 

The entrance gates opened upon their arrival, the wrought iron doors flanked by two columns topped with statues of winged boars. Draco wondered if the gates of hell looked anything like these. 

The three Slytherins exited the carriage, and followed the crowd through the gates and onto the grounds. No one spared them so much of a glance, the dimly lit night giving them some anonymity. Time rushed in a blur, and suddenly, Draco found himself in the Hogwarts Entrance Hall, and then herded again into the Great Hall. 

It was like walking into a memory.

Floating candles lingered high above the four tables, the ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky above. The front of the hall held the staff table, the sorting hat sitting on its usual stool. House banners hung above each table; green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, gold and crimson for Gryffindor, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff. Each table was already half full, and Draco followed Theo and Blaise to their seats at the Slytherin table. 

He felt eyes burning into his back, and he turned to catch Potter nudging Weasleys arm, pointing in his direction. Draco smirked at the sight of Ron's slightly swollen cheek. 

He turned back to Nott and Zabini, but not before catching sight of Pansy a few seats down. Her dark hair was longer now, her face still slightly pug-like. She noticed him staring, and sent him a wink. Draco stifled a groan.

The Great Hall's door opened again, and the herd of first years swept down the middle of the room. They were led by McGonagall, as well as Hermione and Neville, to the sorting hat. The room immediately quieted. 

Draco zoned out as the hat sang its usual tune, before McGonagall read off each name. Every shout of _Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw_ was muffled to his ears as his eyes focused on Hermione. She stood directly next to McGonagall, Longbottom at her side. Neville looked nervous, like always, but Hermione's posture was sure and straight. She kept her eyes forward, not focusing on anything in particular. Draco noticed Ron glaring at her, _and_ at Neville. He wasn't positive, but he thought he recognized jealousy in the furrow of his brows. 

Draco might not enjoy the schoolyear, but he'd surely enjoy watching Weasley suffer. 

Once every student had been sorted, McGonagall moved behind the staff table, and took her seat at the throne-like chair in the center. She was Headmistress now, after all. Granger and Longbottom stood, unmoving. 

McGonagall cleared her throat. 

"Before we begin our banquet, I'd like to say a few words." Her voice was clear as ever, even through her Scottish accent. "As I'm sure you have all guessed, there have been some changes to Hogwarts this year. First and foremost, I'd like to announce the new Head of Slytherin." She gestured to the balding man to her right, his immense belly jiggling as he stood. "Horace Slughorn, also your potions professor, has agreeably accepted his old title." The room offered a low chorus of applause. "Rubeus Hagrid has also agreed to head Gryffindor house, seeing as I'd prefer not to be a biased Headmistress." The clumsy giant stood a few seats down from Slughorn, and the Gryffindor door table clamored with applause. Draco rolled his eyes, unable to hide his distaste for the bumbling oaf. 

"Also, I'd like you all to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Margot Blythe." McGonagall held an arm out to her left, bringing attention to the gangly woman at the staff table. The woman was even leaner than Theo, her limbs resembling the bony Thestrals. Her face was young, her eyes strikingly blue, and her silver hair cascaded in alarmingly straight tendrils down her back. She looked weak in comparison to the teachers around her, and Draco wondered how she'd fair as the Dark Arts professor. 

The Great Hall echoed in an unenthusiastic applause, everyone wary of any Dark Arts teacher they were given. Draco couldn't blame them; the school had a horrible track record. 

"School rules have remained quite similar," the new Headmistress continued. "The Forbidden Forest is still strictly off limits to students." Draco saw her gaze linger accusingly on the Gryffindor table. "And all students are to remain in their dormitories after curfew. Our new Head Girl and Head Boy will see to that." Minerva motioned to Hermione and Neville. "Prefects will be assigned later in the week. I expect you to be on your best behavior." She eyed the Slytherin table as Hermione and Neville took their seats. 

"Lastly, a ball will be held the week before Christmas break. All students fifth year and up will be permitted to attend. Classes will be let out early for all." A flurry of excited whispers filled the room. Draco scoffed. Another trivial event to add to his torturous return. "Hogsmeade trips have also been permitted for third years and up on the given weekends." McGonagall swept her eyes over the room and smiled. She raised a weathered hand and snapped her fingers. Giant, vibrant dishes of food magically appeared before them. 

"Let the feast, finally, commence"

Draco hadn't eaten so well all summer. He hid his enthusiasm between labored bites of food, savoring each flavor. At least there was one bright side to this bloody school. 

The feast was over too soon, and McGonagall once again stood. 

"The heads of houses will lead you all back to your dormitories. All your belongings are waiting for you there." Her voice reverberated through the hall as students turned to leave. The four designated professors turned to leave, and McGonagall caught Slughorn's arm, whispering something into his ear. His beady eyes met Draco's, and his stomach fell. Hermione and Neville followed the Headmistress's departure from the room. 

Professor Slughorn made his way past them and yelled, "Slytherins, this way." He pulled Draco to the side. "The Headmistress would like to see you in her office. Password is Tabby Cat." Theo and Blaise gave him a concerned look, and he clenched his jaw. He followed them out of the Great Hall, but removed himself from the group, quickly finding his way to the third floor. The winged gargoyle guarding the hidden stairwell soon came into view, it's giant wingspan encompassing the entire indented alcove. It's gryffin-like form stood nearly two heads taller than Draco, it's blind eyes locked somewhere in the empty air above him. The ugly, stone face was a sharp contrast to the beauty of it's detailed, feathery limbs.

"Tabby Cat," he gritted, and the statue responded with the sound of stone grating against stone, the creature moving upwards to reveal a twisting, spiral staircase. He trudged up the steps once it stopped moving, cursing under his breath. He'd only just arrived and he was already being summoned to the Headmaster's office. This couldn't be good. 

He knocked on the closed door as he reached the top, and McGonagall's voice urged him to enter. 

The Headmaster's office was a large, circular room with numerous windows, and many portraits of old Headmaster's and Headmistresses filling the walls. A great deal of them were asleep, and Draco swallowed as he recognized the one directly behind McGonagall. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile, but stayed silent. 

Minerva was seated at her desk, deep in discussion with Hermione. Draco nearly collided with Neville, who was on his way out. Longbottom shut the door behind him, trapping Draco in. 

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall spoke. "We're pleased to see you back this year." Her voice held no hints of artificial sincerity. 

"Right," was all he could say. "Is there a reason you called me here already?"

"Of course," she smiled. "Miss Granger informed me earlier of your situation, and I'd like to extend the same privileges to you as I have to Mr. Longbottom."

"And what exactly is my situation?" Draco rasped, his accusing stare focused on Hermione.

"I don't make many exceptions; there are rules I must follow. But I am giving you the ability to use this offices floo network on weekends, if you so wish. St. Mungo's has agreed to open their end for you and Mr. Longbottom." 

Draco felt his temper flare. 

"And you trust me with that?" his voice held no emotion as his eyes flicked back to the Headmistress.

"Miss Granger seems to. I trust her completely."

"How _kind_ of her." Draco's fists clenched at his sides. "Is that all?" 

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your evening." Hermione didn't meet his eyes as he spun on his heel, storming out of the room without a word. He kept what little composure he had back down the steps. The third floor hallway was empty, and he released the furious breath he'd been holding.

_How dare she._

Draco wanted to slam his fist through a wall, but knew his fingers would take the brunt of that hit. He paced the hallway instead, waiting impatiently for Hermione to emerge from the statue. 

He didn't have to wait long. 

She glided down the hall minutes later, unaware of the figure in the dark. She yelped as he grabbed her arm and backed her against the wall, his breath flaring against her cheeks. Her palms flattened on the stone behind her, her chest rising unevenly as she steadied herself.

"Jesus, Malfoy."

"So you just go around telling everyone my business, yeah?"

"Wh-what?" she stammered, her eyes wide.

"Think the whole bloody school needs to know about Malfoy's poor mother?"

"I don't know where you get the nerve," she tilted her chin defiantly up at him. "I haven't told the whole bloody school. McGonagall is the only person I've spoken to about it, and I told her explicitly that it stayed between the two of us." Her anger faltered slightly, and he stilled at her confession. She hadn't told Potter or Weasley?

"Neville gets weekend visits to see his mum," she continued, her voice much softer. "I thought it was only fair you did too."

"I don't need your fucking handouts, Granger." He pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. "In fact, the only thing I need from you..." his face neared hers, her sweet breath mingling with his own. "...is to stay out of my fucking business." He lingered longer than he needed to, the panic evident in her eyes. Draco forced himself out of her space, and stormed out of the hall, leaving Hermione flustered and alone.

_Fucking Granger._


	11. Hermione

_"In fact, the only thing I need from you is..."_

Hermione shot awake, the early morning sun flooding her bedroom. Phantom breaths lingered on her jaw, sharp, grey eyes clouding her vision.

_She'd dreamt of him._

Hermione puffed out a ragged breath, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She'd fallen asleep in yesterdays clothes, so she shuffled out of the bedroom to grab her trunk to change. It was right by the door where she'd left it. 

The Head Boy and Head Girl were given their own private areas on the third floor. Hermione's chamber resembled the Gryffindor common room, with its high, cathedral ceiling, plush carpet, and warm atmosphere. A fireplace cocooned itself in the furthest wall, mirrored by a worn, leather couch. An empty bookcase was framed by two doors, one leading to the bathroom, and one to the bedroom she'd just exited. The tiny kitchenette sat to the right of the entrance door. Her private quarters were small and cozy, and the first thing that had felt right about coming back. Neville's own room lay just down the hall, and Hermione wondered if he was enjoying his privacy as much as she was.

Another phantom breath danced across her cheek, and her thoughts returned to Draco's face mere inches from hers the night before. He'd sounded so threatening, his eyes burning. But at the forefront of her memory was how he had smelled, like sandalwood and mint. It had been unwantedly intoxicating. He'd been close enough for her to see the nearly indiscernible scar at the bridge of his nose. And it had made him all the more _human._

Hermione wondered if she'd given him that mark back in third year. 

That had been the second time in 24 hours that he'd been so close to her, but the darkness of the hallway had made it all the more intimate somehow, even through his anger. Though she still couldn't understand why he'd been so angry, like a dam ready to burst. Did he think she'd been mocking him? She'd genuinely only wanted to help. She'd seen how upset he'd been about his mother; Neville had too. And yet, she'd never seen Draco look so furious. 

_What she'd give to see her own mother every weekend._

Crookshanks mewled at her feet, snaking his way between her legs and mercifully taking her away from her thoughts. She wasn't sure how long she'd been standing in her bedroom doorway, but she shook her head and returned her attention to her trunk.

Hermione kept her wand pocketed as she filled the empty bookcase by hand. She found solace in the repetitive action, the spines of each book offering comfort to her fingers. Crookshanks had relocated in front of the fireplace, the dying embers illuminating his ginger fur. He looked completely at home, and Hermione envied him. 

With her bookcase full, she pulled the trunk into the bedroom, letting it rest at the foot of her bed. She rummaged through its contents, her fingers closing around the palm sized, white bag. She stood, holding the vinyl pouch arms length away, her wand gripped tightly in her other hand. 

_"Engorgio."_

A circle of icy blue light emanated from the tip of her wand, much like a torch. It enveloped the delicate bag in her hand, and Hermione watched as it returned to its normal size. The garment bag was taller than she was, and her arm absentmindedly held it higher to keep it off the floor. The bag showed no signs of folds or wrinkles, and Hermione was thankful she'd had the forethought to shrink it. She hung the vinyl casing on the back of her bedroom door, confident the dress inside it was well protected. 

She left the rest of her clothes piled in the trunk. 

\---------------------------------------------

The Great Hall was nearly empty when she arrived for breakfast that morning. She knew she was far too early, but she'd wanted a head start to her first day of classes. Besides, she found the Great Hall most beautiful at this time of day. The morning sun streamed through the towering windows behind the staff table, bathing every inch of the room in a celestial, white light. The holy glow felt warm against her cheeks, and she happily soaked it in. 

Her light footsteps echoed through the hall as she made her way to the Gryffindor table. She could feel a steady gaze burning her skin, but she refused to look at the blonde she knew occupied a seat at the Slytherin table. She purposefully sat with her back to him, sending silent curses his way. If Draco wanted nothing to do with her, Hermione would happily oblige. 

Quick foot falls approached her, and she looked up into a familiar pair of bespectacled, green eyes. 

"Good morning, Harry."

"I figured you'd be down here this early already," he said, taking the open seat across from her. His eyes flickered to something behind her, and she watched his jaw clench.

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked, pulling his focus back to her. 

"Probably convincing Ron to come down for breakfast," he grimaced. 

"...convincing?" 

"Listen Hermione, he uh..." Harry gazed down at his empty plate, avoiding her stare. "Well, he's not exactly happy with you."

She stiffened.

"I wonder why," she said through gritted teeth. 

"Well, he's kind of upset you chose Neville for Head Boy. You knew how much it meant to him." Harry paused. "We all did."

"Are you saying Neville isn't fit for the job? That I should just give special treatment to my friends?" She struggled to keep her voice even.

"No, it's not that! It's just... you and Ron used to be so close. What happened?"

Hermione scoffed. "A lot happened Harry. You should know that better than anyone."

"The war's over, Mione. We can all go back to normal now." He offered her a weak smile. "I think you should talk to him, maybe McGonagall too."

Hermione felt a dull rage simmering under her skin.

A herd of footsteps tumbled towards them, and Hermione turned to see students piling in for breakfast, Ginny and Ron included. His blue eyes shot daggers at her. 

"I stand by my decision," she said stiffly, not sparing Harry a second glance as she stood abruptly from her seat. She didn't look at the Weasley siblings either as she marched past them, even when she heard Ginny's shrill _"Mione, wait."_ Her feet didn't stop moving until she found herself in a familiar corridor of the first floor, the welcoming entrance of the library just ahead. She released a steady breath once she was inside. Her stomach protested in hunger, and she knew she'd acted childish, but she simply didn't care. 

She found an empty table far back in the restricted section, and took the open window seat, allowing the sunlight streaming in to envelop her. Hermione knew she had some time still before classes, but kicked herself for leaving the Great Hall before schedules had been passed out. 

_What a great start to the year._

Hermione didn't know how long she'd sat there, daydreaming out the window, but the steady thump of approaching footsteps broke her out of her spell. She braced herself for Harry, or even Ginny, but her composure was nearly lost when a blonde head bobbed out from behind a bookshelf. His gray eyes seemed hollow, the bags underneath them almost overpowering. The school uniform he wore was creaseless and pristine, though he'd yet to don his black, Slytherin robes. The crisp light of the library illuminated his pale skin, making him appear almost ghostly. He looked beautiful, even in exhaustion. 

Hermione straightened.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

A brief silence passed between them.

"The library is so predictable of you."

"Is there something I can help you with?" she hissed.

Draco merely shrugged, and took the seat opposite her.

"What happened to staying out of your business?" she asked accusingly.

"I never said I'd stay out of yours," he smirked. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and refocused her attention back out of the window.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy."

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

Draco chuckled. "I still got the better end than Weasley. What was with that?"

Hermione's jaw clenched, realizing he'd must have witnessed her dramatic desertion of the Great Hall.

"What are the chances you'll go away if I don't tell you?"

"Not likely."

"Why do you even care?"

"I have to entertain myself somehow, and your obvious distaste for him warms me inside." He placed a theatric hand over his heart.

"You're awful."

"And yet, you've talked more to me this morning than poor Weasley." His eyebrow quirked. 

_Damn._

"So, what happened?" he pressed.

She sighed in resignation.

"They're all upset at me for not choosing Ron for Head Boy."

Draco's brows furrowed.

"Why didn't you?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you choose the weasel? You obviously had a reason."

Hermione chewed her lip, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb over her freshly healed knuckles.

"He didn't deserve it."

Draco seemed to think on that for a moment.

"If anything, he should be mad at you."

"Me?" he sounded disbelieving.

"You're the reason I chose Neville in the first place," she explained. "He is capable after all."

Draco's lip twitched, his eyes warming momentarily.

"Since when do you listen to me?"

"Don't get used to it. You're still awful."

"So you've said," he mocked, reaching both hands into his pockets. He slid a folded sheet of paper her way, but what captured her attention was the vibrant, green apple he placed next to it.

"What's that?" the words almost stuck in her throat.

"I believe that is an apple, Granger." His voice remained even. "And here I thought you were top of your class."

"Are you always this much of an ass?"

"This is me being nice," he chided.

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing the fruit and paper from the table.

"Don't expect a thank you," she gritted.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Hermione took a quick bite from the apple and unfolded the parchment. Her chewing ceased.

_He'd brought her her schedule._

Her eyes shot back up to meet his.

"McGonagall sent me off with it," he simply explained. Hermione suspected that much, but a nagging part of her brain doubted the Headmistress had sent the apple too.

_That had been all him._

Hermione swallowed, and returned her eyes to parchment in her hand.

Wednesday: free period, double Ancient Runes, and then Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch. It felt weird to only have 7 classes in the week, but these were all N.E.W.T. level now. Hermione was sure she'd be grateful for the extra free periods.

"I'm surprised you didn't take more," Draco said, returning her attention to him.

"Excuse me?"

"Though I guess most people do take only 3 or 4. Still, 7 seems pretty low for you."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Did you read my schedule?"

"Relax, Granger. I just wanted to check what classes I'd have to avoid."

"Get over yourself," Hermione scoffed. "Why are you even still here?"

"I wasn't aware you'd claimed the entire library, Granger." He casually leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. "Besides, I don't exactly have anything else to do during a free period yet." 

Hermione grimaced. "Do I even want to know how many classes we share?"

"Just a few," he confessed. "Ancient Runes, Potions, and Dark Arts." 

Hermione looked over her schedule again, and groaned internally. She shared every double class with him. 

Great. 

"Don't expect me to give you all the answers."

Hermione laughed humorlessly. "As if I'd need your help, Malfoy."

Draco stood abruptly, his palms flattenening against the table as he leaned towards her. His eyes were suddenly scorching, and Hermione swore she could smell sandalwood again.

"You never know," he whispered before turning to leave. He didn't spare her a backwards glance, once again leaving her alone and breathless. 

The library suddenly felt way too big.


	12. Draco

Draco was excruciatingly aware of Hermione's presence all throughout Ancient Runes, even as he did his best to avoid her. He'd chosen a seat on the opposite side of the classroom, but even so, her outline would catch in the corner of his eye, ultimately (and unwillingly) pulling his focus back to her. Draco wasn't sure if she was purposefully avoiding his general direction, or if she was simply that enamored with Professor Babbling's teachings. Whatever the case, he was grateful for the unobstructed view. 

She'd changed into her Gryffindor robes, and a simple pin held back an unruly strand of her bangs. She held a studious air, her scholarly mask set firmly in place. All of her emotions from the morning had been locked away, leaving behind the Hermione who wanted nothing more than to learn. Her hand rose to answer every question, like clockwork. But the part of his brain that had once wanted to mock her for being a know-it-all was silenced immediately. Draco fully noticed how eager she was, how genuinely excited she grew with each correct answer. Knowledge was a haven for her, and he no longer found her so condescending. Of course, this didn't lessen his loathing, but it did make her a little less insufferable.

Draco didn't see her much the rest of the day. She'd seemingly skipped lunch, leaving the golden trio to a golden duo at the Gryffindor table. He noticed the Weasley girl and Harry occasionally eyeing the door, expecting her to walk in. Ron continued his ignorant sulking, and Draco suddenly had the urge to punch his other cheek.

The urge hadn't faded by the time his last lesson came around. He walked into the Dark Arts classroom, and immediately felt Weasley and Potter shooting daggers at him from their desk. Draco rolled his eyes and took the open seat next to Blaise. Like a magnet, his eyes swept the classroom until they landed on a figure a few rows over. She sat with Neville, oblivious to both him, and Potter and Weasley, her focus straight ahead. 

The door behind them breezed open, and every pair of eyes turned as Margot Blythe glided through the room. She was much taller than he'd anticipated, and even more graceful. If not for the footsteps that gave her away, she could have been floating. 

"Good afternoon, class," she spoke with a faint but recognizable Irish lilt. Her sleek, metallic hair reached past her hips, and it reminded Draco of the the Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. 

"My name is Margot Blythe, and as you are aware, I will be your new Professor of the Dark Arts. Though I'm quite positive a good amount of you don't need it." Her smile lingered on Harry. "Nevertheless, I'm to prepare you for your upcoming N.E.W.T.S." She pulled an ivory wand from her robes. "I believe the best way to do that is to see what you know already. I've heard your teaching has been quite varied." Her sapphire eyes returned to Potter. "You made quite the teacher yourself, didn't you?" Harry nodded hesitantly. "Better than that bird, Umbridge, I'm sure." Potter relaxed at that, and returned her smile. "Would you kindly tell me what you'd been teaching?"

"Just some defensive spells mostly. And patronuses towards the end," Harry admitted.

"Ah, brilliant, lad!" she exclaimed. "What a good place to start."

Professor Blythe excitedly scanned the room. "Could I have you all stand up, please? I think we need more space."

"She's batty, she is," Zabini whispered next to him as they stood. Draco found her enthusiasm oddly charming.

"That's it! Everyone to the middle!" All the students gathered in the center of the room between tables, and Margot beamed once more. With an elegant flick of her wand, she effortlessly relocated the desks to the outskirts of the classroom, leaving them in the now spacious center. 

"Much better," she sung. "Now, can anyone tell me the two different types of patronuses?" 

Draco didn't even have to look to see who's hand shot up.

"You must be Miss Granger," Professor Blythe mused. "I've heard wonderful things about you." Draco watched Hermione's cheeks redden.

"The patronus has two forms," Hermione explained. "Non-corporeal and corporeal. Corporeal patronuses have a particular and distinguishable form, while an incorporeal patronus has no distinct shape." 

"Well done," Margot encouraged. "I'm sure you know what they're used for then?"

"Well, when done correctly, the patronus charm acts as an anti-dementor shield. It's a projection of the very things that dementors feed on- hope, happiness, and the desire to survive- but it cannot feel despair, as we can, so the dementors cannot hurt it." Draco heard the nearly imperceptible change in Hermione's voice when she spoke next. "Many witches and wizards are unable to successfully produce a patronus, let alone a corporeal one."

"How right you are, dear," Blythe said appraisingly. Hermione's focus dropped to her feet. "The patronus charm can be immensely difficult, even for the most practiced of wizards." The professor tapped her wand against her hip. "Because of this, the patronus charm isn't on a standard N.E.W.T exam." She swept a knowing gaze over each student, lingering on Draco momentarily. "However, I believe this group has an otherworldly amount of potential." A corner of her thin lips twitched into a smirk, and she held her wand out, eyes determined. 

_"Expecto patronum."_

A powerful, silver light flared from her wand, mimicking her own silvery hair, and Draco's breath hitched as a shape took place. 

_Margot Blythe had produced the most incredible patronus Draco had ever seen._

It's iridescent form stood nearly 10 feet tall, it's body illuminated in an icy blue. Professor Blythe stood directly behind it's transparent shape, allowing her to still be distinctly seen, but also merged with the animal before her. The resulting image was staggering. 

Draco wondered how he could have compared her to a Thestral or a Unicorn before. Her appearance was unmistakably a reflection of her patronus, albeit smaller and thinner. 

"Bloody hell," Blaise breathed, taking a step back. In fact, most of the students retreated as the patronus hunched over to stand on all fours. Draco's feet were glued where he stood. Even now, the animals eyes were level with his own, and it took a few soundless steps towards him. His resilience didn't falter, and he took a step forward to meet it, arm outstretched. His hand fazed through its luminous silhouette, and Draco was shocked at how unbelievably warm it was. 

"What is that?" a faceless voice asked behind him. 

Draco's words were lost to him, but Hermione fortunately offered an answer.

"A polar bear." Her voice sounded as hypnotized as Draco felt.

"Right again, Miss Granger," Professor Blythe grinned, the polar bear slowly phasing away.

"Brilliant," Potter whispered as Draco lowered his hand. 

"That was beautiful, Professor," Hermione chimed. Margot sent her a wink.

"How did you do that?" another voice asked. 

"To successfully produce a patronus, you must remember the happiest memory you can think of. The happier the memory, the stronger the charm." She turned back to Harry. "Care to show them? I've heard you've had one for years."

 _Of course he did,_ Draco thought. 

Harry palmed his own wand, and uttered a less graceful spell than the professor. 

_"Expecto patronum."_

The familiar white light emanated from his wand, and soon, a wispy stag took shape. It wasn't nearly as sizeable as the professors, but Draco still reluctantly found it impressive. 

"Oh, how wonderful!" Professor Blythe's eyes lit up, her hands clapping together. "Anyone else?"

Draco noticed Hermione stiffen.

Harry ushered her, Weasley, and Longbottom forward.

"Incredible," Margot whispered. "Let's see them!" 

Neville fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Mine isn't corporeal yet," he admitted, meeting the professors eyes. Blythe simply smiled at him. 

"Your name, dear?"

"Neville Longbottom."

A look of recognition passed the professors face, but she didn't speak on it. 

"Neville, my dear," she said. "Do not let that discourage you." Her voice was strong and emboldening as she continued. "I could name several of the most powerful wizards who couldn't even manage that much. You helped defeat one just a few months ago. Don't doubt yourself." Draco saw the smile escape Longbottom's lips, and he couldn't help liking Blythe just a little bit more. 

"Will you show me?" she asked, stepping aside. Neville nodded, and slowly raised his wand. 

_"Expecto patronum." ___

____

____

His hand shook, his voice wavered, but a mist of magic vapor flowed from his wand nevertheless. It's shapeless form bounced around the room, almost like a rabbit. It was noticeably weaker than the previous two, but Professor Blythe still looked proud. 

"Well done," she grinned, and Neville smiled in response. 

She turned to Weasley next. 

"What about you?"

"Um, Ron Weasley, ma'am," he cleared his throat, the red head still in obvious awe of their professor. "Mine's just a Jack Russell." 

Draco suppressed a laugh. A dog; _how fitting._

"You're up then," she gestured to the empty circle in the room. Draco barely noticed the canine patronus Weasley conjured though, his attention locked on Hermione trying to ease her way back into the group of students unnoticed. 

_Was she hiding?_

Professor Blythe read her actions as humble, but Draco knew something was wrong.

"Don't be modest, dove." Margot extended an arm towards Hermione. "What shape does yours take?" Draco observed the heave of Hermione's chest, the surrendering sag of her shoulders. 

"An otter," she admitted, the defeat evident in her voice. 

Draco found her admission surprising. An otter was not what he'd imagined; he'd pictured something with wings. 

"Can you show us?" 

Hermione's chin tilted away to avoid Blythe's eyes, and her gaze met his. Draco's heart lodged in his throat.

_She looked broken._

"No," she breathed, her lip quivering, and it registered to him just how difficult that had been for her to admit. Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, could not cast the spell asked of her. 

Harry turned to her in confusion, and she refused to meet his stare. Ron looked at her for the first time all period. 

"What do you mean, Mione?" Potter questioned. 

"I thought _no_ was a pretty straightforward answer," she said, finally meeting Harry's eyes. "I can't cast it. I haven't been able to all summer."

"But why not?" he pressed, and Draco fought the urge to punch him too. Was Potter _that_ bloody oblivious of how painful this was for Granger to reveal? 

Professor Blythe stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Hermione's arm. "I've found that many wizards have difficulty casting it after emotionally trying circumstances. You've all been through quite a lot for your ages. That trauma doesn't just go away." Her ocean eyes crinkled with understanding. "It'll come back to you, dear. Have faith." Hermione nodded tentatively, her gazed aimed back at her feet.

Margot moved back to the center of the room, taking attention away from Hermione.

"Listen up, kids," she smiled. "My methods might be bizarre, my ideals a bit unrealistic. But I genuinely believe that you all possess the capacity for a patronus."

Blaise scoffed skeptically beside him.

"In light of the situation, I say class is dismissed early. We have a double period Friday morning. I expect you all to come prepared with a happy memory for us to practice with. We'll move on to nonverbal spells next week, but we'll keep track of our patronus progress throughout the year." She sent the class a confident wink. "Don't disappoint me." She turned towards her untouched desk at the front of the classroom, her robes billowing at her back. She raised her wand and gave it a flick, the desks righting themselves behind her.

Draco smirked. Margot Blythe was not someone to underestimate. 

The other students surged around him to obtain their belongings, the bewildered expressions still unmistakable on their faces. Zabini didn't hesitate to gather his own books. 

"Are you coming?" he asked impatiently. Draco noticed Hermione's prolonged actions, and the two boys lingering purposefully behind to confront her.

"I'll catch up with you later," he said dismissively, and Blaise immediately took his leave. Draco, however, deliberately kept his movements slow and casual, allowing the class to dwindle. He didn't look up as Hermione strode past him, intentionally waiting a few seconds before tossing his bag over his shoulder and following her lead. He kept his distance enough to seem inconspicuous, but close enough to eavesdrop. Potter's loud banter made it even easier to listen in.

"I really can't believe you didn't tell us, Mione," Potter said with suspicion. "You were able to cast it just fine before."

"Yeah well, things clearly change." Draco could hear the bitterness in her voice. 

"But they don't have to! Everything's fine now. Better in fact-"

"Oh, come off it, Harry!" Hermione interrupted, stopping in her tracks. Draco ducked in a doorway behind them. "Not all of us are better off!"

"I don't see what could possibly be so wrong," Harry gritted, and Draco decided he'd heard enough.

"Granger," he said, stepping into view. None of them had noticed his presence previously. For all they knew, he'd just caught up with them.

"What do you want, _Malfoy_?" Ron asked, his voice dripping with hate.

"I'm sorry, Weasel. Is your name Granger?" Ron's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing. "I didn't think so."

"What is it?" Hermione asked reluctantly as she stepped ahead of Ron.

"Blythe wants you back in the classroom," he lied. "Bloody bat asked me to catch you."

Harry eyed him skeptically; Draco's eyes never left Hermione.

"Alright." She resigned herself from the group, not offering the Gryffindor boys any goodbyes. Draco turned back with her, his hands casually in his pockets as they left Potter and Weasley stunned behind them. 

When he was sure they were out of sight, and earshot, Draco leaned in her direction, his focus straight ahead. 

"I lied," he admitted, keeping his pace. 

"What?" she asked, her steps faltering.

"Blythe didn't actually send me to find you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but continued walking. "Why did you say that then?"

"You looked in need of rescuing," he shrugged.

She laughed humorlessly beside him. "And you're my rescuer now?" Her voice was disbelieving. 

"Don't get used to it, Granger," he scoffed. "If it was anyone else being a tosser to you, I wouldn't bloody care."

They walked aimlessly in silence, Hermione tightly gripping the books in her arms. 

"Are you going to ask me why I can't conjure one anymore?" she asked under her breath. He opened his mouth to immediately dismiss the idea, but he thought better of it, remembering the pain in her eyes. 

"Not today, Granger," he sighed. "Not today."

They arrived at a split in the hallway, and Draco turned right to head to the stairs to the Slytherin dungeon. A hand caught the sleeve of his robes, and he turned to meet a warm pair of brown eyes. She'd obviously been ready to head left.

"Thank you, Draco." Her voice was little more than a murmur. She offered him a weak but friendly smile before turning on her heel.

Draco watched until she turned a corner, his heart thundering in his ears. 

"You're welcome."


	13. Hermione

_She dipped one foot in the shallow shore of the lake. The water was incredibly warm, the waves calm. It didn't take long for her to wade out into waters too deep for her feet to touch the bottom. She wasn't afraid._

_"Don't go out too far, love!" a woman's voice said behind her._

_"Your daughter's quite the swimmer, dear," a man laughed. "Our little otter."_

_She floated out further, the sun beaming on her back._

_"Not much farther, sweetheart!" the woman called again. "Or I'll send your father in after you."_

_She giggled gleefully, her arms paddling harder. This was her favorite game._

_"Here I come," the man teased, splashing into the water behind her. She sucked in a breath and dived under, laughs escaping her lips in bubbles. She waited for his arm to pull her out, but it never came._

_Her head breached the surface, her tiny lungs out of air, and she knew something was wrong. The sky had turned a an ominous shade of gray, the water frosty and dark. She turned to face the shore, but there was no one there. Two silhouettes loomed in the distance, their outlines growing smaller and smaller._

_She was hit with a wave of panic._

_"Mom! Dad!" she screamed, kicking her legs. "Wait!" She swam as hard as she could, but the beach only seemed to grow farther away._

_"You forgot about me!" she wailed, her limbs growing tired. "Please come back!" Water flooded her mouth as her head bobbed under, and she struggled to right herself. Tears streamed down her face as the two bodies disappeared altogether._

_"Wait!" she pleaded, and her head bobbed under the water again. But this time, she only sunk further into the murky depths, a frozen hand wrapping around her ankle. She struggled to kick herself free, but the fingers only clenched her leg tighter. She looked down into an eyeless, gaping face, it's decaying form shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak. The water around her became painfully cold as the wraithlike figure pulled her deeper. Her screams were drowned out by the lake's depths, her oxygen depleting. The tattered, black cloth of it's robes swallowed her whole, and she had one last, fleeting thought before everything faded into darkness. ___

____

____

_"You forgot about me."_

Tears burned Hermione's eyes as she stared blankly at her dark, bedroom ceiling. Her chest heaved in silent, empty sobs as her own 8 year old voice echoed hauntingly in her ears.

_It was just a dream,_ she reminded herself. _Just another tainted memory._ There hadn't been any dementors at the lake that day. Just a happy family, and two parents that loved their daughter very much. They never would have left her. 

_"Our little otter."_

Hermione choked back a sob, her heart painfully heavy. She'd adored that nickname, and their trips to the lake. She'd been euphoric when her patronus had reflected those memories. But her otter was gone now, gone the moment she'd whispered obliviate. Her parents had no idea who she was, and if Kingsley wasn't successful, they never would again. 

Hermione fought another wave of tears as she rolled to her side, hugging her legs to her chest. 

_"You forgot about me."_

\---------------------------------------------

Hermione trudged into Herbology quite early the next morning, her eyes red-rimmed. She hadn't shown up to the Great Hall for breakfast, her appetite lost. She wondered if the Gryffindor table would ever seem comforting again. She wondered if she even cared. 

Hermione wasn't surprised to find Neville already in the greenhouse, the sun casting a kaleidoscope of patterns through the glass roof above him. Herbology had always been his favorite, and best, class; his skills in botany knowledge rivaling even her own. He smiled as she approached, and patted the open stool beside him, gesturing for her to take it. She was sure he'd noticed her bloodshot eyes, but he didn't ask any questions. Hermione loved him for that. 

The class passed by in a blur. Harry and Ron had walked in at some point, but she'd paid them no notice. Professor Sprout's chirpy voice barely registered as she droned on about fluxweed and knotgrass. Thankfully, Neville was eager to answer the stout witch's questions; no one even noticed when Hermione's hand never raised. 

She could have sat there in sorrow all day, oblivious to everything. If it hadn't been for Neville's warm grip on her shoulder, she would have. 

"Come on, Mione," he whispered, his tone comforting. "Class is over." Hermione blinked her surroundings back into focus, fully realizing the three Gryffindor boys were all waiting for her. 

"You okay?" Harry asked, his concern sincere. 

"Long night," she shrugged.

"Do you want us to walk you to your next class?" Neville offered, releasing her arm. 

"No, no!" she said too quickly. "I have a free period anyways." They all gave her a wary look, Ron included.

"Don't worry about me," she smiled weakly at them. "I'm fine."

They all released a hesitant sigh, but lumbered out of the greenhouse anyways, leaving her behind. Part of her wanted to call them back and let them be the friends she needed. The other half reminded her they already had enough on their plates. So she reluctantly let them go. 

The rest of the day passed much like Herbology. She'd sat through Charms in a daze, and skipped lunch altogether, her appetite still not recovered. She arrived in the Potion's classroom a half hour too early, and resigned herself to a table near the back, her focus on the quill she twirled in her fingers. 

The class slowly filled up around her as students stumbled in. She caught a blonde figure from the corner of her eye, but she didn't look up as he passed. He and Blaise took their seats at an open desk one row up and to the left of hers, allowing her to watch them through her peripherals. The four remaining desks were soon filled, leaving Hermione at a table to herself. 

_There were only 11 students,_ she realized. _And not a single Gryffindor to keep her company._

Hermione fully registered she'd been tearing tufts of feather from her quill. She hastily dropped her hands to her lap. 

"Ah, good afternoon!" Horace Slughorn bellowed as he entered the room. "What a small group we have this year! No matter. Not everyone can handle N.E.W.T. level potions." His belly shook as he gave an awkward laugh. 

Clumsy footsteps drummed through the doorway, and Hermione turned to see a flushed Theodore Nott trying to catch his breath. 

"Sorry I'm late," he stammered, chest heaving. 

"No problem, my boy!" the professor chortled. "We were just about to begin." His plump cheeks pulled into a grin. "There's an open seat next to Miss Granger." Slughorn gestured her way. Hermione met Theo's gaze, and he offered her an easy smile as he took the open seat to her left. She hurriedly shot her eyes away, the quick movement jarring a curtain of her hair to fall between them. 

Professor Slughorn marched to the front of the classroom, wand flicking towards a chalkboard. 

"It looks nice," Theo said, causing her to jump. 

"What?" she stammered, eyes returning to him.

"Your hair," he explained, his voice genuine. "I like it."

"Oh," she blushed. "Thanks." Theo's attention turned to the front of the classroom, and Hermione hesitantly studied his profile. His nose was slightly too long, his face a little too thin. The skin sunk in noticeably at his cheeks, and his hair fell too long at his brows. He reminded her of a leaner Neville, with sharper eyes and fuller lips. Hermione noticed the smile lines around his mouth were quite noticeable, and she found that oddly endearing. 

"Like what you see?" he said, jerking her focus back up to his eyes. She scoffed and turned away. Theo chuckled.

"Sorry, you're stuck with me," he shrugged a thin shoulder, his voice friendly. Her eyes flew to his two Slytherin classmates.

"Could be worse," she admitted. Theo laughed again. 

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Hermione thought she saw Draco's chin tilt almost imperceptibly in their direction, but Slughorn's boisterous voice stole his attention away. 

"I know it's been some time since you've all been here," he started, his gaze roaming over every face. "So I think it wise to do a few potion recaps before we move on to new material." He flicked his wand at the chalkboard again, revealing the hidden lesson scribbled upon it.

_Amortentia, Polyjuice, and Veritaserum._

"Piece of cake," Theo whispered confidently.

"I'm sure you all are quite familiar with these," Slughorn continued. "Some of you more than others maybe." His twinkling eyes landed knowingly on Hermione. Theo nudged her with an elbow.

"Sneaking Amortentia into boys drinks?" his voice was light and teasing. She rolled her eyes, and found herself correcting him.

"Polyjuice actually."

Theo coughed out a laugh.

"Wicked."

Hermione felt the edge her lips twist into a small smile.

"Each of these take about a month to produce properly, so we'll be brewing up until Christmas break. Starting with this." He held a pink, tear drop vial up for everyone to see. "Can anyone remind us of Amortentia's properties?"

Hermione was surprised to feel Theo's hand shoot up beside her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Nott."

Draco's furrowed brow turned towards her. 

"Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. It smells differently to each person, according to what attracts them."

Hermione swallowed, wondering if hers would still have hints of Ron. 

"It's quite dangerous though," Theo continued. "It doesn't produce real love, just an unhealthy, and unstable obsession."

"Absolutely right, my boy!" Horace beamed. "Which is why it's important to study it's ingredients. One drop of this..." He clinked the vial with a fingertip. "...and your mind won't be your own."

"That might not be so bad," Theo joked quietly, his words meant for only her. Hermione chewed her lip. He wasn't entirely wrong. 

"I'd like you all to read up on the necessary ingredients today. We'll start gathering them tomorrow." The hefty professor patted his protruding stomach. "Feel free to talk amongst your partners."

With that, Slughorn took a seat at his desk, the chair resisting under his weight. Hermione pulled the Potions book from her bag, and absentmindedly flipped through it. 

Theo angled his lean body towards her.

"Mind if we share?" he asked with no hint of hesitation. "I rushed off without mine, and didn't have time to go back." His eyes were honest, and Hermione found herself pushing her book to the middle of their desk.

"Thanks," he smiled, and she relaxed.

Theodore Nott turned out to be quite pleasant company. He easily kept up with her quick pace, and she was surprised to find him so well versed in Potions knowledge. His easy demeanor was comforting, and Hermione wondered why he'd ever taken the Dark Mark; he didn't seem anything like Death Eater material. Then again, Draco didn't seem as evil as she once believed either.

_Maybe both sides had changed._

"I'm surprised Potter isn't in here," Theo said once they were finished. "From what I remember, he was top of the class sixth year."

Hermione scoffed and snapped her book shut. "Only because he was using a book with all the answers written in."

"No shit," Theo snorted, disbelieving.

"He didn't want to come back after..." her eyes flicked to Draco. "Well, after what he did to Malfoy." The blonde boy's ear twitched, but he didn't look up from his textbook. "He learned the spell from that book. It freaked him out."

"Makes sense," Theo admitted. "It's weird seeing you here by yourself though."

Hermione shrugged.

"Lucky you have me then," he winked. 

"So lucky," she chuckled, and she realized how good it felt. 

"Hey, I got you to laugh at least," he beamed. "You looked like you could use one." 

Hermione's face fell.

"You don't seem like yourself," he said softly, concern flooding his eyes. 

"I don't feel like myself," she admitted. "Though I'm not sure why I'm telling you this."

"My rugged good looks maybe? Or is it my charm?" He puffed out his chest, and Hermione found herself laughing again. 

"I'm sure that's it."

Theo winked again. "Just watch, your amortentia will smell like me in no time."

Hermione felt a burning set of eyes on her, and she met Malfoy's silver gaze. 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she breathed.


	14. Draco

Most students had already finished their breakfasts by the time Draco ambled into the Great Hall the next morning. He'd known she wouldn't be there, but his eyes scanned the enormous room for Hermione anyways. He wasn't sure what bothered him more; the fact he was so quick to notice her absence, or the fact that the Gryffindor table seemed so unaffected by it. Potter and the two Weasley's tittered naturally over an unheard joke, and Longbottom was currently distracted by the blonde intruder in their midst, her Ravenclaw robes clashing in the sea of red and gold. 

_Was he really the only one concerned of her whereabouts?_

He scoffed internally. It wasn't concern, merely curiosity. 

"We were wondering if you'd ever show," Theo teased as Draco took the seat to his left. 

"Speak for yourself, Nott," Blaise yawned.

"Wrong side of the bed, Zabini?" Draco asked, absentmindedly grabbing an apple from one of the various fruit trays. "Or did you wake up with Pansy again?"

"As if," Blaise dismissed. "Besides, you know she still has the hots for you."

"I'll gladly pass her on," Draco smirked. 

"Got someone else lined up, have you?" Blaise's dark eyebrows shot up accusingly. Draco forced his face to remain impassive. 

"Not in this bloody school," he gritted before taking a crisp bite of the fruit in his palm.

"I still think Granger's pretty," Theo chimed, causing Blaise to groan audibly. 

"Not this shit again." Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose. "You went on enough already yesterday."

Draco shot them a confused look mid-chew. 

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Blaise gritted. "Seems he and the mudblood are good friends now. Apparently they hit it off in Potions."

Draco swallowed. 

"That is _not_ what I said," Theo yelled, his eyes narrowing at the dark-skinned boy across from him. 

"Might as well have been." Blaise gestured to Draco. "I had to listen to this git go on for a good 10 minutes about how _'she smells like vanilla and just looks so sad now.'_ " His voice raised theatrically to mimic Theo's, his eyelashes fluttering mockingly. "Nearly made me sick, it did."

"Been working on your impressions, Blaise?"

"Shove off, Malfoy. It was awful."

"Oh, so you're allowed to find the Weasley girl attractive, but I'm awful for fancying Granger?" Theo accused. 

"I don't find blood traitors attractive," Blaise spat defensively. "Or _mudbloods._ "

Draco's muscles instinctively tensed. 

"I especially don't want Potter's sloppy seconds, and I'm sure they're both on that list."

A regrettable retort formed on Draco's lips, but a sharp voice pulled his attention mercifully away. 

"Mr. Malfoy," the witch called, and Draco had never been more grateful for McGonagall's interruption. Her emerald robes billowed towards them, her face as severe and unreadable as ever. 

"Headmistress," Draco said casually.

"Could I have a private word?" she asked, her eyes blank. 

Blaise raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Theo simply looked wary. 

Draco gave a resigned shrug. 

"Shouldn't you boys be off to class?" she glanced to Blaise and Theo dismissively. It was then that Draco fully noticed how few students still occupied the Great Hall. 

It must have been later than he thought. 

The two Slytherin boys gathered their bags, Blaise muttering obscenities under his breath. McGonagall paid no notice, her hands clasped firmly in front of her. When they'd finally shuffled out of ear shot, her piercing gaze returned to Draco's still sitting form. 

"If I'm not mistaken, you have a free period this hour. Walk with me." It wasn't a question as much a request. 

Draco sighed, and pocketed another apple before grabbing his own bag, and following McGonagall from the hall.

"Where are we going exactly?" he asked impatiently.

"Nowhere in particular. I just fancied a walk."

"Right," he scoffed. "And I'm here because?"

McGonagall chuckled softly.

"You're here upon recommendation."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Draco felt his eyebrows pull together. 

"It means that Miss Granger has shown you another kindness." Her footsteps halted in the middle of the empty hallway. "Whether you deserve it or not has yet to be decided." 

Draco's fists clenched at his sides. 

"And what kindness has _Miss Granger_ so graciously given me?" he hissed. 

"As you have seen, prefect roles were late to be handed out. I asked for Miss Granger's opinions for the Slytherin house, and she was adamant I ask you." The Headmistress's lips pursed into a hard line. "She was very persistent in that I ask, and not just simply assign."

Draco's jaw tightened almost painfully.

"You don't think it should be me, do you?" he glared at the witch before him. 

"Miss Granger seems to have faith in you," she said, not missing a beat. 

"Is Granger the bloody Headmistress now?" he seethed. 

"No, but I hold her opinions very high." McGonagall huffed out a breath. "And oddly enough, her opinion of you seems to have changed."

"I don't want it," he murmured, his gaze locked on his feet. 

"Pardon?"

"I don't want it," he shouted. "I don't want her bloody opinion, or the fucking prefect role. Find someone else." Draco's body shook, but his words were crystal clear. 

McGonagall paused, her eyes searching for something. 

"Hmm," she started. "If you're sure."

"I am."

"Very well." Minerva turned on her heel. "Don't forget, my office is open for you tomorrow." Her footsteps reverberated through the empty corridor, and Draco found himself speaking without thought. 

"Ask Theo." The words came out almost automatically. McGonagall stilled and shot a warm glance at him over her shoulder. 

"He's a good kid," was all he could think to add.

Draco swore he saw the Headmistress smile, but she turned back away too abruptly for him to be sure. Her sharp footsteps echoed long after she was out of sight, and Draco found himself moving shortly after. 

The library came swiftly into view. 

He wasn't sure how he'd known she'd be there; call it a hunch. But Draco found her exactly where she'd been 2 days before. His determination faltered slightly at the sight of her. She sat in the same window seat, her legs pulled to her chest and her chin on her knees. Rain pelted the glass softly beside her, the weather echoing the sadness in her eyes. She looked so small, so delicate, like one stiff breeze of the incoming storm would send her crumbling. 

Draco's anger fizzled out. 

"You know, you're going to have to eat something one of these days, Granger."

She didn't take her eyes off the water streaked window. "I'm not hungry."

The apple in his robes suddenly felt very heavy, so he placed it on the table between them, and took the opposing seat. 

"Humor me then."

Her eyes flashed briefly to his, then settled indignantly on the apple.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Her voice sounded defeated. 

"Well, I'd like to know why you still won't stay out of my bloody business," he shrugged. "But I'd settle for why you're starving yourself."

"I am not starving myself," she huffed. "And I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, McGonagall must have been talking about the other Miss Granger recommending me for prefect duties."

Hermione's wide eyes shot back to his. 

"Listen. I knew you wouldn't want it, but I thought it only right that she asked anyways. You should get the same opportunities as everyone else."

Draco laughed humorlessly.

"No, I shouldn't. Stop being so bloody naïve. I made this bed and I will lie in it. Stop doing me favors because you refuse to acknowledge the choices I've made."

"But you didn't have a choice," Hermione whispered. "I'm just trying to give you one."

"You don't know a fucking thing, Granger," he spat harshly, his temper threatening to overflow.

Hermione's mouth opened slightly as she inhaled a breath, but she closed it immediately to chew her lip and avert her gaze. Her arms tightened around her legs, and she buried her chin between her knees. If she could have sunk further into herself, she would have. 

"Sorry," was the only response she offered. 

Draco released a weary sigh, and slowly got to his feet. 

"Come on, Granger. No sense moping all morning."

"You have a better idea?" she asked, her words muffled against her legs. 

"Actually, I do." He moved to the end of the table, and absentmindedly extended a hand in her direction. 

She eyed his outstretched fingers hesitantly. 

"I'm going to get whiplash from your mood swings," she sighed, one hand reaching for his, the other for the apple. 

"I'll be sure to drop you off at the hospital wing," he grumbled as her warm fingers met his, a flash of lightning illuminating the room.

His skin burned from the contact. 

Draco expected her to release his hand immediately upon standing, so he kept his grip light and noncommittal. But her fingers lingered with his until they'd left the library, earning them a concerned look from Madam Pince. 

He wasn't sure who broke the connection, but his hand immediately felt cold. 

"So where are we going?" she asked, her amber eyes locked with his.

"All in due time, Granger," he answered softly. "You'll see." 

Hermione took a dubious bite of the apple, but nodded in acceptance. 

He led her on a slow ascent to the 7th floor, her gaze never straying from straight ahead of her. Draco fought the surprising urge to grasp her hand again. 

When they reached the familiar corridor on the 7th floor, her steps slowed. 

"The Room of Requirement," she breathed. 

"Ah, you catch on quick."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Do you think they rebuilt it?"

"That's what we're here to find out."

Hermione eyed him skeptically, but followed him to where they'd known the hidden entrance to be, right across from the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach Trolls ballet. It seemed everything had been restored to how he remembered. 

"What do we ask from it?" she queried, her eyes searching the spacious, stone wall. 

"Perhaps simply for it's existence," Draco shrugged, and walked past the hidden door three times. 

Nothing happened. 

Hermione chewed her lip again, and hesitantly reached for his hand. She started to walk them in front of the wall, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Show us a place to get lost for a while."

The door miraculously began to appear, the bricks rearranging themselves around it. Hermione reached for the bronze handle, and it offered no resistance upon opening. 

Draco's breathed hitched in his throat. 

The Room of Hidden Things loomed before them, and his blood ran cold. This wasn't the room he'd wanted to find. 

Hermione turned and caught his stricken expression. Her fingers tightened around his. 

"It's okay," she smiled warmly. "I won't let you do anything stupid."

He steadied himself and allowed her to lead him in. 

The room wasn't exactly as he remembered; assumingly half of it's contents had been destroyed in the Fiendfyre. But it still appeared just as large and just as cluttered. He didn't need to search for the Vanishing Cabinet; he knew it wasn't there. 

"I wonder if the room rebuilt itself," Hermione mumbled, dropping his hand to run her fingers over the cover of an old book. A familiar bust of an ugly warlock greeted him on a broken down desk. "It must have salvaged all that it could."

Draco let her words sink in as he studied the countless piles of junk. Hermione's footsteps echoed in the opposite direction, her curiosity leading her further into the room. 

He turned around to follow her, but she'd already vanished in the clutter. 

He bit back a small wave of panic, and followed the path he guessed she'd taken. His footsteps quickened when he could no longer hear hers. 

"Granger," he yelled, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes searched every chaotic alcove, and it didn't take him long to find her. 

She'd stationed herself in front of an ancient, ornate mirror, and Draco was surprised at how untouched it seemed. It's clawed feet and gold frame shined in a pristine fashion, the glass it held still in one, unfractured piece. 

Hermione was statue still. 

"Granger," he repeated. She didn't move an inch, her gaze locked on her own reflection. 

"Harry said it was real," she whispered, her lips barely moving. "Said it drives people mad."

"What are you rambling on about?" he said, hesitantly coming to her side. He looked into the foggy glass and saw nothing but the two of them. 

His presence seemed to pull her out of the trance she'd been under, and she blinked her eyes rapidly, a lone tear escaping from them. 

"What is it?" he asked, searching her face. "What's wrong?"

She released an unsteady breath. 

"It's the Mirror of Erised."

"What does it do?" 

_"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,"_ Hermione said, repeating the words engraved above the frame. _"I show not your face but your heart's desire."_

Another tear fell from her lashes. 

Draco swallowed uncomfortably, and placed a hand to her back.

"What did you see?"

Hermione finally turned towards him, her lip quivering. She said nothing, but tightly shut her eyes, and leaned her forehead into his chest. Draco stiffened as her body trembled against his, her vanilla hair right below his chin. Her sobs were unnaturally quiet, and he could think of nothing to do except rub his hand up and down her spine. 

The two of them stood silently for minutes. 

"Come on, Granger," he encouraged once her breathing evened out. "We'll be late for class." She pulled away to meet his eyes, her cheeks stained. She nodded, and let him lead her away from the mirror, his hand on her back until they re-entered the corridor. 

The Room of Hidden Things hid itself once more. 

They walked back through the halls silently, the main floors filling with students rushing to class. Hermione kept her head down, even as they entered the Dark Arts classroom. The desks had already been moved to the room's borders, causing their paired entrance to not go unnoticed. 

Harry and Ron marched over, their pace quickening as they caught sight of Hermione's red eyes. Blaise sensed the impending quarrel, and came to Draco's side. 

"What the bloody hell did you do now, Malfoy?" Ron yelled, his eyes flashing red.

"Are you alright, Mione?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," she spat, eyeing the two boys threateningly. "He didn't do anything."

"But Mion-" Ron started.

"Come off it, Ron!" she interrupted. "I won't say it again." 

Blaise whispered a surprised _damn_ behind him. 

Potter eyed them both warily, but returned to the group of Gryffindors. Weasley didn't move, his eyes fastened on Draco. 

"I wasn't aware you were such a Slytherin sympathizer now," he gritted towards Hermione. 

"I'd back off now if I were you, Weasel," Draco smirked. "Granger might just punch you again."

The color immediately drained from Ron's face. 

"Why you bloody-" Ron moved towards him, but Hermione was quicker. 

"Back off, Ronald," she hissed, her body standing between the red-head and himself. She was significantly shorter than both of them, but her stance was still intimidating. Weasley narrowed his eyes, but finally stormed off towards Harry. 

"And you," she said, turning swiftly to point a finger at his chest. "Do not goad him on further."

Draco raised his hands in innocence. Blaise simply whispered a second _damn._

Hermione stormed off in search of Neville, not offering the Slytherin boys another word. 

"I didn't know Granger had it in her," Blaise muttered, the shock evident in his voice. "What the hell happened between you two?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Draco admitted. He didn't know what Hermione had seen in the mirror, and he guessed she'd solely turned to him for comfort because he'd been the only other person there. Regardless of the reason, she'd been so warm against him, and his traitorous body already missed her nearness. 

And he couldn't explain why. 

His eyes flew to where Hermione now stood. Her anger had already subsided, and a wounded look had taken its place.

He kicked himself mentally for wanting to comfort her again.

"Ah, hello doves!" Professor Blythe sung as she glided into the classroom. She'd traded the custom teacher robes for a fashionable navy jumpsuit, the sleeves cropped at her elbows. She didn't fit the castle's aesthetic at all, but it seemed to suit her perfectly. Her moonlit hair fell as straight as ever. 

"Shall we get started?"

Draco watched Hermione defeatedly pull out her wand. 

The class went as dismally as he'd expected. Blaise and Draco stopped trying after 15 unsuccessful minutes of saying expecto patronum into the air, Harry and Ron gloated in their direction as their corporals pranced across the room, and Hermione looked like she was about to fall apart. She'd mustered as brave a face she could, but every lift of her wand made her arm tremble. 

Draco sighed in frustration. 

"Blythe is crazy if she thinks we'll ever manage this," Blaise grunted beside him. "Can Death Eaters even have patronuses?"

"Do you still consider yourself a Death Eater?" the professor chimed, sneaking up behind them. There was no judgement in her tone. 

"Everybody else seems to."

Margot simply smiled. "Prove them wrong then."

"I don't think that woman is entirely human," Blaise whispered once she'd moved out of earshot. 

Draco smirked. "I might have to agree with you there."

By the end of the double period, only three other Gryffindor's had icy wisps flaring from their wands.

"Slow progress is still progress!" Blythe grinned enthusiastically. "Keep practicing. I'll see you all Monday!"

"Can't wait," Blaise groaned sarcastically. Draco's eyes once again searched for Hermione. 

She'd already disappeared from the classroom, and he doubted he'd find her in the library again.


	15. Hermione

Hermione felt her feet carrying her up through the castle before she could stop them, her mind focused on everything and on nothing. Her stomach protested loudly, knowing everyone else would be heading to the Great Hall for lunch. But she couldn't face them; not yet. Not while her skin buzzed with unused magic. Not while her lungs hung like shriveled, dead leaves in her chest. Not while two sets of familiar eyes branded themselves behind her temple. 

Hermione had always wondered if Harry had exaggerated his experience with the Mirror of Erised, but all that doubt was gone now. She already found herself resisting the urge to return to the hidden room on the seventh floor, knowing full well nothing good awaited her there. Just a dusty mirror with deceptive images and false hope.

And yet, if it hadn't been for Draco, she would have stood there all day. 

Hermione wondered what he thought of her now, after she'd broken down against his chest. She was mortified by her own actions, but he'd been so close, his warmth so inviting. She wanted desperately to believe she'd only sought the comfort of his body because he'd had been the only other person around. 

She wasn't so sure. 

Hermione kicked herself. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy she and her friends had loathed since first year. A boy she was supposed to hate, a boy she should have been avoiding. 

_But is that what she wanted._

Hermione's quick footsteps slowed at the surprising thoughts that invaded her head, phantom notes of sandalwood lingering at the forefront of her nostrils. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.

One thing was certain, Malfoy didn't need to see her like that again. 

Hermione had been so wrapped up in thoughts of silver eyes and sandalwood, that she'd made it to the third floor before she noticed a second set of footsteps echoing behind her. They were clumsy, and rushed, and she'd wished she hadn't slowed moments before. She'd almost made it to the safety of her room. 

"Hermione," Ron yelled, and she steeled herself, stopping and squaring her shoulders. She didn't turn around.

"Hermione," he said again, catching his breath as he came to her front. She kept her eyes locked somewhere behind him.

"What do you want?" she asked, the emotion gone from her voice. 

"What has gotten into you, Mione?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ronald." 

"You've been avoiding me," he started. "You've been avoiding all of us." She gritted her teeth and remained silent, willing him to go away.

"I see _Malfoy_ is good enough for your time now," Ron spat, the hatred apparent in his voice. Her eyes flew to his. 

"Malfoy also doesn't assault me in his front yard," she hissed. Ron's nostrils flared. 

"No, he just gets to hear about it." His eyes shot accusing daggers at her, but Hermione held steady, her chin raised. 

"Is that what this is about?" he continued, his freckled cheeks reddening. "Is this some kind of payback? I only _bloody_ kissed you. I don't think that warrants all these awful changes. You don't need to go around cutting your hair, and making Slytherin friends just to spite me."

Hermione felt her rage threaten to boil over.

 _"Awful changes?"_ she seethed. "I don't know if you know this, _Ronald Weasley,_ but the world doesn't revolve around you. I can cut _my_ hair when I bloody well want to, and I can be friends with whoever I bloody well want to. With or without your approval." Ron's shoulders raised in defense. 

"Malfoy is _not_ your friend, Mione." 

"He's been more of one then you've been lately," she said blankly, and Hermione watched the color drain from Ron's face for the second time that day. 

"I don't know who this Hermione is," he said, taking a step in her direction. Hermione's instincts told her to back away, but her feet glued themselves stubbornly to the floor. "You're supposed to be here for me." 

"I could say the same to you," she tried to stand taller. "But you're too busy snogging your liquor bottles."

The air around Ron seemed to change, and grow heavy. Hermione felt it's weight on her shoulders. 

"I lost a brother, Hermione. What in the bloody hell did you lose?"

Hermione felt the nails of her fingers digging painfully into her palms. "You know fully well what I've lost."

 _"At least your parents are alive,"_ he yelled, stepping closer to her. "It's not the same."

"You don't get to compare your suffering to mine, Ronald," she said, trying with great effort to keep her voice even as he towered over her. "I know how hard it must have been to lose Fred. But that doesn't make my pain any less valid. It doesn't make it hurt any less." 

"You don't know a fucking thing," he threatened, his face mere inches above hers, and his hand snaking to her wrist. She thought fleetingly of Malfoy in the library, and how he'd said something similar, but she'd never once been scared.

This Ron terrified her. 

His eyes had narrowed to slits, his lips thin and pulled taut against his teeth. She could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, like a hurricane on turbulent seas. His grip on her arm was not yet painful, but tight enough to leave an imprint. She pulled back, but there was no give in his taut fingers. He was much stronger than she was. 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but a familiar Slytherin drawl interrupted first. 

"Is there a problem here?" Theo said a few steps behind her. She jumped at his sudden intrusion, like he'd appeared out of thin air. But then she picked up on the familiar sound of stone grating against stone, and recognized the sound of the gargoyle guardian settling back into place. She'd been so focused on Ron, she hadn't noticed the noise until now. 

Ron's hand remained curled around her wrist.

"Another friend of yours?" Ron spat, his eyes never breaking the contact with her own. 

"Ronald," she whispered, not rising to the bait. "Let go of my arm." He didn't move an inch, minus the easily perceptible flare of his nostrils. Hermione sucked in a shaky breath.

She felt Theo come up behind her and clear his throat, and she watched as Ron's eyes quickly darted above her, assumingly to meet the Slytherin boys stare. They quickly returned to her own, and she could see his resolve faltering. 

"It's sad to see you looking to _Slytherin's_ for protection," he hissed, finally releasing her. 

Hermione didn't miss a beat as she rubbed the tender junction of her wrist. "It's sad that I need protection from _you._ " 

That silenced the Weasley in front of her, his jaw audibly snapping shut. Hermione waited for him to say something else, but after a moment, Ron looked between the two of them and huffed, deciding this was a battle for another day. He stormed off back the way he'd came, shoulder checking the Slytherin on his way by. Theo didn't make a sound, just straightened himself once more, and kept his protective stance behind Hermione. 

Her eyes followed the silhouette of Ron's red hair until he was finally out of the hallway. 

Only then did she release the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. 

Theo looked as if he wanted to say something, but thought the better of it, and Hermione was grateful for his silence as she steadied herself. She didn't need to break down in front of two Slytherin's today. 

When her nerves finally calmed, and her heart had ceased it's thundering, she offered Theo a weak smile, and he returned it with the genuine one he always seemed to have for her.

That seemed to calm her even more.

"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly, his green eyes plagued with concern.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Thank you."

He bowed his head slightly in response, but made no move to leave. Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted him to. 

"What were you doing in McGonagall's office?" she asked, hoping he didn't mind her quick change of topic. 

"Oh," he smiled again, "She asked if I wanted to be a prefect this year."

"What?" she asked, and he laughed at the confusion on her face.

"I had the same reaction." His lean shoulders shrugged. "I didn't believe her at first. But apparently Malfoy put a good word in." 

"Malfoy?" she repeated. 

"Who knew?" he laughed again. 

Hermione's brows furrowed, and Draco once again flooded her mind.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Theo asked again, dipping his head to catch her wandering gaze. 

"No," she laughed weakly, shrugging her shoulders back at him. "But I will be."

"Can I at least walk you to the Great Hall? Or were you heading back to your common room?"

"Actually, my room's just there," she pointed at the door down the hall, his attention following the path of her finger. "Perks of being Head Girl I guess." 

His warm eyes returned to hers. "See you in Potion's then?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Of course." 

Theo readjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and nodded, the smile on his face reaching his eyes. Hermione watched him go, his school robe fluttering easily behind him. Her shoulders fell as soon as he was out of sight, the mask slipping from her face. 

She tried to remember the last time a smile had reached her eyes. 

Hermione turned and trudged the final steps to her room, sinking to the floor as soon as the door clicked shut behind her. Her own bag fell next to her with a _thud_ , and it echoed throughout the quiet dorm. She pulled her knees to her chest, her elbows resting against them as she pressed her palms firmly against her closed eyelids, sending stars across her vision.

Anything to mask the eyes that haunted her.

Ron's eyes, laced with anger and hatred. 

Draco's eyes, so full of something she couldn't quiet place, and yet, always so empty. 

Her mother and father's eyes, caught between looks of recognition, and blank stares that were still so vividly ingrained. Even after all these months. 

Her own eyes in the mirror, a dull copy of what they once were, unrecognizable to even herself. 

Eyes. 

They were always haunting her. 

\---------------------------------------------

_Hermione Granger had always put her education first. She never missed a class, never took a sick day, not unless it was absolutely necessary. School was always priority._

_But her book bag lay untouched where she'd dropped it inside the door to her room, her robe pooled on the floor where she'd shrugged it off. All she carried was her wand._

_"I need to see them again," she whispered, tears flowing freely from her cheeks after she'd held them in for so long._

_The enchanted bricks obeyed, once again readjusting to reveal the same door as before. She'd expected the Room of Hidden Things again, but an empty chamber appeared instead. It was nearly the size of the Gryffindor common room, with a tiled floor and ornate stone walls. There were no windows or candles to be found, but the room was clear as day, everything blanketed in an unnatural wash of gray._

_The door closed silently behind her, and she took a hesitant step forward, her shoes echoing against the black and white tiles. Another tear fell from her lashes to the floor, where it immediately dissolved. A low hum vibrated through the walls, and Hermione watched as the Mirror of Erised glamoured into view near the opposite side of the room. A velvet quilt the color of blood lay draped over half it's golden frame, the color striking against the dull room. Hermione surged forward, arm outstretched. The rich fabric was smooth against her fingertips, and she grasped a handful of it in her palm. It easily pulled away from the mirror, and it made no sound as it fell to the floor._

_Or maybe it did. But it hadn't registered to Hermione's deaf ears, her focus solely on the foggy glass. The bold color leeched from it's threads, leaving it as gray as the rest of the room._

_Hermione didn't even notice, her eyes blurring from the newest wave of tears. She stood frozen before the mirror again, all of the oxygen depleting from her lungs._

_"Mom. Dad."_


	16. Draco

_Hermione never made it to Potion's._

Draco felt her absence like a weight on his back, the empty seat blaringly obvious in the corner of his eye. Theo seemed to be just as affected by it, his eyebrows never releasing from their furrowed positions. He forced his own face to remain impassive, biting back the waves of panic that surged just beneath the surface.

_Where was she?_

Slughorn carried on with the lesson as if nothing was amiss, and Draco tried to focus on that. If something bad had happened, surely someone would have heard about it, and class wouldn't carry on so normally. Right?

Maybe she'd gotten called in by McGonagall, and she was just busy with some Head Girl duties that couldn't wait.

Maybe nothing had happened at all, and Hermione was just ditching.

 _No,_ his brain clarified. _Granger would never._

Something had to have happened. 

Potion's dragged painfully on, the double period stretching into what felt like days, and Draco nearly jumped out of his seat when Horace finally dismissed them. 

He attempted to move as quickly and nonchalantly as possible, but Theo caught his arm as he tried to pass.

"Have you seen Hermione?" his classmate pressed, green eyes pleading. "She said she'd be here." 

This caused Draco to pause. 

"When?" he asked.

"Beginning of lunch," he answered, "Outside of McGonagall's office. Weasley seemed to be giving her trouble, but I only caught the end of it. She looked really shaken up, but she said she was coming."

"Weasley?" Draco repeated, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice.

"Ron, yeah." Theo chewed his lip. "I'm not sure what he was upset about, but he looked about ready to hex her. He left as soon as I stepped in."

Draco felt heat flare into his cheeks. 

"Do you know where she went after?" he gritted out.

"She said she was going to her room. It's on the third floor just down the hall from the Headmistress'."

Draco forced a breath into his lungs. 

"She's probably still there," he said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. 

"You think we should check?" Theo asked, and Draco felt the yes sitting heavily on his tongue. He forced himself to swallow it back.

"Granger's probably fine," he said flatly, hoping Theo would believe his feigned indifference. "No use sounding the alarm because of one missed class." 

"Still," Theo whispered. "It's not like her."

"Not like who?" Blaise cut in, his lean form coming up behind them.

"Hermione," Theo admitted, knowing it would do no good to hide it. "She never misses class." 

"And you two suddenly care?" Blaise asked, one of his dark eyebrows raising accusingly at Draco. Again, he could taste the affirmation on his lips. And again, he bit it back.

"No." 

Draco felt Theo tense beside him, but he purposefully avoided his stare.

"Can we get moving then, or do you two gits plan on standing around here all day?" Zabini scoffed and pushed past them. Draco released a silent sigh and followed, Theo begrudgingly stepping along with him. 

_You have no right to be worried for her,_ he thought. _You've only caused her grievance and pain. If something really has happened, she wouldn't want you there anyways._

He wanted to believe otherwise, but he didn't stray from Blaise as they headed back to the dungeons, his resolve slipping firmly back in line. As much as he wanted to find her, he knew it wasn't his place. And Blaise's words were still ringing in his ears.

_You two suddenly care?_

He'd wanted to scream yes. 

But he couldn't admit that to them. 

He could barely admit it to himself. 

\---------------------------------------------

Draco didn't sleep a wink that night, his racing thoughts refusing to settle. He watched as the early morning sun crept through the bedroom windows, chasing away the shadows of yesterdays storm. It peaked through the gap in the curtains around his bed, a single pillar of light falling across his brow as he continued to stare at the ceiling. He wished he could blame his restlessness on Theo's snoring, but his room was silent as a grave. Either Theo had kicked the habit, or the universe was taunting him. His pessimism suggested the latter.

He knew it was too early, but Draco went through the motions of his morning routine anyways. Theo didn't stir as he changed into casual clothes; a thin, V-neck sweater the color of his eyes, and a well fitted pair of black trousers. His wardrobe didn't consist of much color, outside of the emerald green of his Slytherin garb, but he liked it that way. 

Draco pocketed his wand and left the room, letting the door shut softly behind him. He stood unmoving in the hall, listening to see if he could hear anything in the common room ahead. He was answered with silence, so he ambled forwards.

The Slytherin common room was a long, windowed, underground area that extended partially under the lake, washing everything in a fitting, green tinge. It smelled noticeably of leather, most likely from the expensive sofas that littered the room, circling the elaborately carved mantelpiece above the fireplace. The atmosphere was simultaneously luxurious yet cold, but Draco felt more at home here than he had the past handful of months. 

The room was mercifully empty, and he slipped through the door unnoticed. He didn't have a destination in mind, but his feet compelled him out of the dungeons anyways. 

Hogwarts itself seemed to be sleeping along with everyone in it. A muted calm had settled through the halls, his soft footsteps the only disturbance. The stairs to the dungeons came out to the right of the Entrance Hall, and he found himself pulled further along the first floor to the library. Something in him knew Hermione wasn't there, but he allowed himself to check anyways. 

Madame Pince wasn't in her usual place just inside the door, and Draco thanked the universe for the tiny shred of luck. He didn't feel up to the onslaught of questions that were sure to ensue if she found him here so early. He quickly pressed forward, hoping to avoid her altogether. 

Just as he thought, Hermione was nowhere to be found. He'd hoped to find her sitting at her designated window again, daydreaming through the glass. He could easily picture the reflection of her honey hair, and how it floated around her head when she'd turn to look at him. But the chair sat empty, still pushed in under the desk. Draco sighed through his nose, and took her seat by the window. 

Maybe he hoped she'd show up and yell at him for taking her place, or maybe it was just his common sense kicking in and telling him to remain in the quiet confines of the library while the rest of the school woke up. Whatever the reason, Draco remained stationed by the window for over an hour, watching the sun rise over the grounds. 

Madame Pince had fluttered by at one point, her eyebrows quizzical. But she made no attempt to converse, or shoo him out, her focus too preoccupied on the pile of spell books in her hands.

Only when he heard the muffled sounds of a few straggling students in the library around him, did he decide he'd overstayed his welcome. 

He ducked out of the library, and life seemed to have breathed itself back into the castle. The halls were still mostly empty, but he could hear people moving about all around him. Footsteps in the distance, doors opening and closing down the halls, easy conversations echoing somewhere behind him. 

The school was awake, but still no sign of Hermione.

Draco steered himself to the third floor. 

_You're being ridiculous,_ the voice in his head chimed. _Haven't seen Granger in less than a day and you're already on your way to find her. There's probably nothing wrong, and you're acting like a bloody fool. Get a hold of yourself. What would your father say if he found you acting like a lost puppy to some mud-_

"I don't have a father," he whispered, cutting off the thought before it could finish. "Not anymore."

Draco's nails bit into his palms, fists clenched tightly at his sides, but he powered forwards, pushing away his pride. Something felt wrong, and he refused to ignore it any longer. 

That didn't quell his doubt though, the anticipation building with every step. The stairs to the third floor seemed miles high, and the hall seemed to stretch endlessly before him. The familiar gargoyle stood in the center alcove like it always did, but it's inanimate eyes seemed to follow his every action, questioning him.

It felt as if it'd been ages since he'd been in this corridor, but it had merely been a few days. His eyes caught on a doorway further down the hall, identical to one he'd just passed, but something in him knew it was Granger's. She'd been heading that direction when he'd ambushed her in the dark. He hadn't thought anything of it then. But he knew now. 

He was nearly to the winged, stone beast when a sudden noise stopped him.

"Malfoy?" a voice called to his back. He turned to see Neville stumbling out of the doorway he'd just passed, in what Draco guessed were his own quarters. 

"Longbottom," he replied shortly. 

"What are you doing up here?" the Gryffindor asked easily, no hint of malice in his voice. 

Draco stood in silence, wondering what answer he should give.

"You decided on St. Mungo's then?" Neville continued, catching up with him.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Draco said, releasing a breath. He'd completely forgotten about McGonagall's offer. His thoughts had been busy elsewhere.

"I have to say," Longbottom laughed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "I feel better now knowing you're up as early as I am."

"Couldn't sleep," Draco shrugged, and it was the truth.

"Me neither." 

The two boys moved in front of the gargoyle, Neville whispering the password under his breath. Draco eyed the door down the hall again as the griffin-like creature circled upwards, wondering if Hermione was really in there. Wondering if she was okay.

Wondering why her absence bothered him so much. 

"After you, then," Neville said as the stairs settled into place, pulling Draco from his distraction. He met Neville's eyes, and Longbottom gave him a half smile. Draco steeled his nerves, and led the way up to McGonagall's office.

The doors were open this time, welcoming the two boys inside. Minerva once again sat at her desk, her deep, verdant robes as pristine as ever. Her peaked hat sat atop the desk next to her, the gray hair of her bun uncovered. The Headmistress looked older every time he saw her, but Minerva's eyes never seemed to lose their sharpness. Draco was sure she could always see right through him. 

Dumbledore's portrait still sat directly at her back, but it was mercifully empty.

"Good morning, boys," McGonagall chirped, her eyes flicking between them.

"Morning, Headmistress," Neville greeted warmly. Draco simply nodded once.

"The floo powder is just there," she said, gesturing the quill in her hand towards a crystal bowl to her left. "I trust you two to come back." McGonagall quirked a thin eyebrow at them, and returned her attention to the parchment before her, promptly ending the conversation, and dismissing them.

Draco barely contained the shocked look on his face. He'd expected a longer lecture, and was surprised at how brief she'd kept it. Minerva had never acted so accommodating with him before.

Neville moved suddenly beside him, and Draco followed closely behind. They both grabbed handful's of the ashy powder, trying carefully not to dust everything around them. They moved quickly to the empty fireplace at the end of the room, right beneath Dumbledore's unoccupied frame.

Draco signaled Neville to go ahead.

Longbottom nodded and ducked into the brick alcove, his arm outstretched as he turned back to face the room. The Gryffindor boy audibly cleared his throat. 

"St. Mungo's," he said, enunciating the hospital's name clearly, before tossing the powder at his feet. Emerald flames blossomed around his legs, steadily encompassing his entire form in blinding, green fire, before fizzling out almost instantly, leaving behind an empty fireplace once again. 

Draco exhaled a breath, and took his place, floo powder leaking from his fingers. 

"St. Mungo's," he repeated, letting the ashes rain to the floor. The heatless flames licked at his own legs, before the void swallowed him whole and spat him back out. He executed a less than graceful landing, but managed to stay on his feet. Neville stood just outside of the unfamiliar fireplace, rubbing his arm furiously.

"I'll never be any good at that," he admitted, and Draco bit back a smirk.

\---------------------------------------------

He wasn't sure why he'd expected the hospital to be any different; it seemed as if no time had passed there at all. The fourth floor ward was just as he'd left it, and his mother looked the same as she had a week before. Her hair was still dull, and mussed around her face. Her lips were chapped, her cheeks slightly sunken. Her breathing was even at least, but Draco could only focus on how shallow it seemed. 

_She was still so weak._

He came to her side, and slipped his hand into her own, her skin surprisingly warm. She didn't stir at the contact, and Draco wondered if the feeling had registered to his mother at all.

 _"There hasn't been much change,"_ the healer had said. _"She's conscious more often, but she hasn't made much progress besides that. It's only been a week though. Give her some time."_

Time was one of the only things Draco had left. 

Neville had taken residence by his own mother, and Draco heard him softly rambling as he fed her from a spoon. He wondered if he should talk to Narcissa too, but he had no idea what to say. So he just simply sat, and cradled her hand. 

Draco sat there for a few hours, listening to the soft inhales of her breathing, and the one-sided conversations Neville had with Alice. He listened to Longbottom tell his mother about school, and how he'd become Head Boy. He told her about Lovegood, and how she prayed for Alice every night. Neville also told her about how much he missed his dad.

Draco stopped listening after that. 

\---------------------------------------------

It was sometime after lunch when Narcissa Malfoy finally moved. Draco's breath caught in his throat as her eyes fluttered opened, and he watched as she slowly surveyed the room around her, her irises attempting to focus. He felt a flicker of hope warm his chest as her gaze finally landed on him. Her eyes remained blank, her stare empty, until a spasm of pain quickly overtook her, and her eyes squeezed shut. The fingers around his hand tightened instantly, a response to the pressure her body was under. Draco jumped from his seat, and placed his free hand on her shoulder, holding her gently to the bed. 

Narcissa's body shook, and it took everything inside him to stay calm. 

"It's okay, mother," he said, keeping his voice low and steady. "I'm here. I know it hurts, but I'm here." 

Neville was beside him almost immediately. 

"I'll get a nurse."

Draco simply nodded, his mother still shaking. He rubbed her knuckles as Longbottom swiftly left the room, his other hand moving to push the hair from her face. His thumb grazed her temple, and her eyes shot open again. They locked with Draco's, and then down at his hand on hers, and she rushed to pull her arm away from his grasp. Draco's brows furrowed and he reached for her again, but stopped himself when he noticed the panic in her eyes. 

"Mother," he whispered, "It's me."

Her eyes searched his for a moment, but they held no look of recognition. 

Draco felt his heart break in two. 

"Malfoy," Neville slapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his trance. A young nurse rushed past them both, her wand drawn. A soft, yellow light emanated from it's tip, flaring out and settling over his mother's heaving chest. It blanketed her torso, like the sheet draped over the bed, before dissipating beneath her skin. Narcissa calmed immediately, her eyes fluttering slowly shut. 

They'd never left Draco's face.

"Is she okay?" he asked as the nurse palmed his mother's wrist, checking her pulse.

She offered him a sympathetic expression. 

"This is normal," she said. "The spasms are lessening, but we can't do much else yet."

Draco sighed heavily and fell back into his chair.

"Thanks, Margie," Neville said solemnly, taking the seat beside him. 

The nurse nodded to them both, and her heels clicked as she left. Silence fell upon the room once the door had shut behind her.

Neville's fingers interlaced in his lap, and his leg bounced silently as he waited patiently for Draco to collect himself. 

He was grateful for that.

"She didn't recognize me," he finally said. "She looked at me like I was going to hurt her." 

Neville sighed, and leaned his head back. "I wish I could say it gets easier."

Draco swallowed. "How do you do this as much as you do?" 

He felt Neville shrug beside him.

"She's my mother," he simply said.

Draco felt his heart splinter even more. 

"Hey, why don't you head back?" Neville suggested. "I'll be here a while longer, but you look like you could use some rest. I'll keep an eye on her."

Draco met Neville's eyes. 

"She'll be okay," he continued, and Draco sighed in surrender.

"Okay," he breath, rising shakily from his chair. "Thanks, Longb-, uh... thanks, Neville."

The Gryffindor boy stood up beside him, and nodded warmly, before stepping aside, allowing Draco to leave. He took one last look at his mother, before trudging back through the hospital and to the unlit fireplace, his mind numb. He focused himself momentarily to say _Hogwarts_ clearly enough, and surrendered himself to the floo network. He almost wished the green flames burned like the real thing, if only to feel something for a moment. But it was over just as it began, and he once again found himself in McGonagall's office. 

The elderly witch didn't appear to have moved an inch. 

"Back so soon?" she asked, not turning at all, simply continuing with the quill in her hand. Draco shuffled forwards, his sights set on the double doors leading out of there. Minerva took no offense to his silence, and didn't press him as he passed. He'd nearly made it across the room before a question nagged at his mind.

"Have you seen Granger today?" he asked.

"I have not," she said, looking up at him for the first time since he'd returned. He wasn't sure what she saw on his face, but she slowly removed the half-moon spectacles from her nose. "Is everything alright, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Fine," he lied, getting all the answer he needed.

The Headmistress didn't question him further as he continued forward and out of the room, taking each step slowly and meticulously. His mind jumped from one thought to the next, bouncing back and forth between his mother and Hermione. 

Both of them felt lost.

He paused at the bottom of the stone steps, and immediately felt the gargoyle's gray eyes boring into him once more.

 _Don't stop now,_ it seemed to say, and like a siren song, his head immediately turned to the door down the hall. Draco felt his feet moving unconsciously beneath him. 

He pressed an ear to the door, and heard nothing. He rapped his knuckles impatiently against the wood, and knocked louder still when there was no response. He tried the doorknob with no luck, and groaned in frustration. He risked a glance down the corridor, and pulled the wand from his pocket.

 _"Alohomora,"_ he uttered, and the door clicked open. 

Draco swiftly entered, and nearly tripped on a bag inside the door. A set of robes lay pooled beside it, and the Gryffindor crest stared back at him from the pile, a Head Girl badge glinting amongst the sea of black. 

"Granger?" he yelled as he searched each room. Every one was empty, aside from her bedroom, where an ugly, orange Kneazle lay curled on her bed. It gave him a skeptical look, before deciding it was uninterested, and resuming it's slumber. 

She wasn't here. 

"Shit, shit, shit," he said, running a hand through his hair. He walked back through every inch of her quarters again, praying he'd missed something. He paused in the bathroom, his eyes catching on his flustered reflection in the sink mirror. 

Draco stilled.

_Mirror..._

He sped out of the room, the door flying shut behind him. 

Students eyed him warily as he rushed through the castle, but he paid them no mind, the seventh floor his only thought. He skidded to a halt in front of the empty stone wall, willing his lungs to fill with air.

"I need to find her," he said determinedly to the door, before walking past it three times. At first, nothing happened, and his shoulders fell in defeat. But then, the wall began to dissolve, revealing the hidden door he knew too well. Draco almost laughed. 

She was here. 

Draco couldn't get to the door fast enough, and he hurriedly flung it open. 

She was laying on the floor at the other end of the room, the mirror towering over her like a shadow. Draco paused momentarily, his attention pulled to how wrong the room seemed. It was like stepping into a dream. Everything seemed gray and lifeless; even Hermione's form seemed to be void of it's usual vibrancy. He forced his feet forward.

"Granger," he yelled, dropping to the floor beside her. He pulled at her shoulder, shoving her to her back. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow. Draco swallowed, noticing how gray even her skin looked. 

"Granger!" he screamed again, shaking her now. Hermione didn't stir, and a wave of fear crashed heavy into his chest. 

He pushed a faded strand of hair from her face, his thumb brushing shakily against her temple. He cradled her cheek in his hand, and tightly shut his eyes, willing her to wake up. Magic hummed beneath his skin, and he let it flow from his trembling fingers. Draco nearly gasped when he felt the response of Hermione's own magic rising weakly to meet his.

"Come back to me, Hermione," he whispered, opening his eyes as her magic pulsed brighter. 

It wasn't long before her eyes fluttered open also, her gaze boring straight into his. Draco braced himself, but her confusion was immediately replaced with warmth, color flooding back into her cheeks.

"Draco?" she breathed, and he couldn't suppress his sigh of relief.

"Wh... what happened?" she asked, not moving from his embrace. Her eyes darted to the mirror, and she grimaced.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said. "No one's seen you since yesterday."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Yesterday? What do you mean?"

"It's Saturday," he explained. "You never came to class." 

Draco watched her puzzled expression as she tried to put the pieces together. 

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he pressed, and she bit her lip and looked away. She suddenly realized she was still lying on the floor, and she struggled upwards into a seated position. Draco's arms fell to his sides, and she rubbed roughly at her temples. Her shoulders swayed dizzily, and he reached back out to steady her.

"We need to get you to the infirmary," he said firmly.

"I'm fine," she lied, shaking her head. 

"Fine? You've been lying her for maker knows how long, and you want to say you're fine?" 

"Well, I am!" she argued, gesturing towards herself. "I'm still breathing aren't I?"

"You have no idea what happened in here, do you?" 

Hermione avoided his eyes.

"I'm fine," she gritted. "I always am."

Draco scoffed in annoyance. 

"Bull shit."

"Excuse me?" she gasped.

"Bull shit!" he repeated. "You haven't been fine in a long time, Granger, and you know it. You try so hard to hide it, but I see right through you." He waved a hand in her direction. "This. This isn't like you. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me."

"You don't know anything, Malfoy!" she yelled. "You don't know me! And since when do you care? I've been a filthy, little mudblood to you all my life!"

"Don't," he started, cutting himself short. 

"Don't what?" she cringed, straining herself as her voice raised. 

"DON'T CALL YOURSELF THAT," Draco bellowed, his temper flaring. Hermione jumped slightly back, but she didn't look away. 

"I still don't know why you care," she finally said.

"What happened in the mirror, Granger?" he asked through gritted teeth, blocking her attempt to change the subject.

"Nothing," she answered curtly.

"It obviously isn't _nothing,_ " he mocked. "You wouldn't have come back here for _nothing._ You wouldn't have skipped class for _nothing._ You wouldn't have risked your life for _nothing._ "

"I didn't risk my life!"

"That's not what it looked like to me." 

Hermione huffed out an irritated breath.

"And to think I worried myself sick over you," he spat, risking a glance back at the mirror as he stood. Hermione remained seated before him, the back of her hair and shoulders reflecting in the bottom of the mirror. He had an overwhelming urge to shatter the glass.

"It's a mirror, Granger," he pointed at it's golden frame, the copycat Draco pointing back at himself. "You're sitting here in front of a magic fucking mirror, pretending like you have your shit together, while I had to sit with a mother that doesn't recognize me all day." Draco felt his voice threatening to break, and he let his arm drop. "You have no bloody idea what that's like Granger. No bloody idea."

A tear fell from her lashes, and landed in her palm.

"Do you want to know what I see in the mirror, Malfoy?" she asked shakily, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. "I see a mother and a father that know who I am. I see a mother and father that love me again."

Draco's anger died in his throat.

"What?"

"You asked me that night in the pub what I've lost," she continued, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks now. "I lost everything. Voldemort was killing muggle families. It was only a matter of time before mine was next." Hermione inhaled sharply, letting her gaze fall to the hands in her lap. "So I obliviated them. My own wand took all their memory of me away. They don't know they have a daughter. They have no idea I even exist."

"Granger, I-"

"I would do it all over again if it guaranteed their safety. I knew the cost; I paid the price," she cut him off, finally meeting his stare. "But I have to look everyone in the eyes everyday, and act like I'm not dying inside. Like I'm not constantly haunted by their absence. I lost them, and I lost my patronus. All of my happy memories are clouded by the fact I'm the only one who remembers them." 

Draco slowly dropped back to his knees before her, his anger dissolved. 

"Harry just doesn't understand; he never had his parents around. And Ron... Ron acts like loss is some competition. Like we both can't be grieving." Hermione sniffled through more tears, trying to blink them back. Draco couldn't stop the hand that reached to wipe them from her jaw.

"Shacklebolt went off to see if he could reverse it somehow, but I know it won't work. I made the spell as powerful as I could."

Hermione fell forward into his chest.

"I just wanted them to be safe."

Draco rested his chin in her hair.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered to her temple. "I shouldn't have yelled. And I shouldn't have assumed." His hand moved instinctually to the small of her back, and he let his thumb rub lazily against her sweater. His steel eyes returned once more to the mirror, and he saw nothing but the two of them. 

"And I'm sorry about your parents," he continued. "If it wasn't for people like me, you wouldn't have had to go through that." Draco swallowed back his remorse as Hermione pulled away. His eyes dropped to the floor, but a warm hand found his cheek. 

"If it wasn't for you," she breathed, "I'd still be lying on this floor." She dipped her head to regain his focus, her amber eyes wide and watery.

"I should have found you sooner," he admitted, one of his hands rising to hold her wrist steady as he leaned into her palm. "I knew something was wrong. I'm so sorry."

"...you knew?"

"I just... I felt it." 

"Felt it how?" she asked.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I just did."

Her eyes searched his face for something, answers maybe, but he wasn't sure if she found what she was looking for.

"Come on, Granger," he sighed, releasing her arm. "Let's get you out of here." Draco stood, and slipped his hands delicately under her elbows, slowly pulling her to her feet. Hermione teetered unsteadily, and his hands moved to her waist. 

"We really need to get you to the hospital wing."

"N-no," she stammered.

"Granger."

"Draco, please. I just need to get back to my room."

"We don't know what happened in here," he said, keeping his voice calm. "This room isn't right."

"I just need some rest," she said sleepily, her energy spent. "I swear I'll be fine."

"Hermione..."

"Please," she pleaded, her eyes wide.

Draco huffed in resignation. "Fine, but on one condition."

"What is it?"

"You never go looking for the mirror again."

Hermione's shoulders fell, but she nodded in acceptance.

"Promise me," he whispered. "I need to hear you say it."

"I promise, Draco," she breathed.

"That's my girl," he said without thought, offering her a weak smile. Her lips pulled up slightly in response as she turned towards the door and out of his grasp. She'd regained her balance, and Draco took one last look at the room before following in her footsteps, his eyes skating right over the mirror. He didn't see Hermione's reflection lingering next to him in the glass, even though the real witch was already across the room. 

He wouldn't have known what it meant anyways.


End file.
